Over the next few weeks, we caught up with each other’s lives of the last 15 years.  There was no awkward phase; we simply started talking again the way old friends always do – comfortably, eagerly, tenderly.  Like H said, our bridge wasn’t burned; it was merely blocked and made impassable by our individual circumstances in the past. 

He was there for me, online, the entire time that I struggled to put my life back together from scratch.  He offered and gave me help whenever he could.  And I became his trusted confidante once again.  But the times when we reminisced together were the most special.  I was so happy that I crossed that point of no return and crossed our bridge again.  I was so happy that he was in my life again, and I, in his. 

While I sometimes still felt the same aching for H that I had always carried with me for the past 15 years, while my love for him has never wavered, to be in a romantic relationship with him again was not my purpose.  Even when he would sometimes drop hints that he’s thinking of going in that direction again, that his feelings for me have returned, I chose to not entertain the thought of us being together again that way.  I told myself, for the nth time, that if it’s meant to be, it’s going to happen when the time is right; when all the pieces of the puzzle are complete, then we would work side by side to put them together.  I did not want to force things; not with H.  Not when it’s about my one, great love.    

I was still recovering from that disastrous relationship. I needed time to heal, to find myself again. 

I was just happy that we found each other again.  We talked online every single day, for hours at a time whenever our schedules allowed it.  Having him during those first few weeks of my life do-over was exactly what I needed to keep my self-doubts at bay, to keep me sane, especially when I had nobody else for company in the big, empty house but my thoughts.   

The Biggest Mistake (BM) of my life kept trying to creep back into my life.  He called, texted, and emailed me constantly.  I worried every day that he would just show up at my door to drag me away with him.  I knew he was capable of doing that.  I feared for my daughter’s safety.  But he finally stopped contacting me after about two months.  It felt like a huge weight on my whole being was finally lifted.  I finally felt completely free.    

Perhaps I also refused to believe that what I had always believed and hoped for all those years we had been apart – that we were made for each other and would still end up together – could actually become reality.  After all, I sincerely thought that he had already found the love of his life a few years earlier; she was now out of the picture, but I knew how having a “love of one’s life” works.  Nobody else could ever come close.  I loved him immeasurably, but I also loved myself enough to not want to settle for anything less than the same kind of love. 

It turned out I was wrong.  I did not have the complete picture back then when he was still with her, and I scolded him for not telling me his side of the story when we still used to chat.  I wanted to kick him for not opening up to me then because he could have saved both of us four years of being lost.  I would have slammed the door on BM’s face that day that he first came knocking.  Or I would have let the relationship end that first time that I got a peek of the monster hiding inside.  Should haves, could haves, and would haves.  They were useless, of course; but the alternate world of more favorable, but missed, possibilities mocked and made me feel sad, nevertheless.

When I was done with these thoughts, I decided to put my focus back on the present and all the possibilities it still offered.  Could it really happen?  Could my lifelong dream really come true?  Could my long wait be finally over?  It turned out that it could.  It turned out that my childhood love was truly my one, great love; and I was his.