Her first boyfriend wrote a letter to me, heartfelt and filled with love. I only met him once, when she suffered from a disease.
We were married. He was married.
Her heart nestled in mine, and mine nestled in hers. First Love still has a homestead, although a modest one than when it was a ranch.
They swapped cards about family for many years, and his wife became a fast friend of mine.
We were insane with that insanity of love. They had a sense of togetherness, but it was our love that left her in my arms.
He was compelled to write about her stature as a goddess, in his mind, though they had not met again. He wished me well and wished that I had her longer before she passed.
I am the only one he told of how much she meant to him.
She asked for me before she died. She smiled when she saw me, closed those windows of the inner self, and entered the Promised Land.
She was my first and last.