The one

There's only one girl in the world I want to hear from. My heart pants for her and waits patiently (and sometimes impatiently) to hear from her. She's my heart's one desire. I've made peace with not having her, but oh, I'd love to hear her voice again. The only problem is I'm sure it would send me into space. It would be too much — like a buffet to a starving man — I'd feast until I'd become sick. 

There's something in me that turned off, though, and forever. It was a rabidity I can't explain, like a ceaseless roving. Once my heart settled on her, a calmness replaced it. I answered all the questions that could be answered. I checked every box. I communed with my God until I knew all there was to know, and then I made my decision with a sureness that only comes from examining every aspect of something. Have I thought of everything? I can answer with all honesty and say, "Yes. At least, all that matters." 

My fight is over. My mind and heart have made peace. I'm satisfied with my decision. I was blessed to brush up against such a lovely woman twice in my life. I could have had her, I keep telling myself. And that's enough. A man can only hope to be with such a woman, and somehow I got that chance twice. In that way, I've been incredibly lucky. Also true, I've been incredibly unlucky to have lost her ... twice. 

Every other woman pales in comparison to her. She's like the one home in town that somehow didn't lose power, and all other homes are obscured by darkness. My heart seeks her out constantly, even though there is no hope of finding her. It's like a search party that never comes home. 

What more can I say about her? She's the one girl for me. In a world of men seeking abundance, I want only one. But not just anyone — the one. 

So many seek a love that comes back to them. They want you to return what they give you. I know I can't ask that of her, so I won't. I just want to love her. 

From the outside, I'm sure all of this looks like the rambling of a madman, an obsessed man unable to move on. But, no, I've let her go as she requested. I gave her what she needed in one final act of respect. But that will never take away how I feel about her. It wasn't my choice to let her go; it was my choice to love her, and I will continue to do so. 

It's hard to understand why I feel so deeply for a woman I've only seen three times in 22 years. Consider that, dear reader. Consider if this is the sound thinking of a rational man. But the roots of my feelings go down deep because of the person I've known her to be for 31 years. She is not perfect. Neither is my love for her. But she is worth every drop of blood in my ailing heart. Every day it beats for her and no other. What I feel for her is as new as a newborn, as strong as any three-fold cord, and as precise as the best marksman. She is my home, and I will dwell in no other, even if it means I sleep under the stars or roam for the rest of my days. 

When other women peer in on this heart of mine, they will see it full of love — love that is waiting to be given — but they will see it shuttered. They will see something carved deeply in the pulsating center of me that says, "Reserved for the most beautiful. The only. The one."