text: My wife and I met in college, I was a freshman, and she a sophomore. Obviously, she didn’t know I existed. You may realise this has had no effect on the fact that we got together anyway. You see, I was a bit shy at times; often focusing on my studies, getting good grades, and finishing first. Some might have called me a geek, but I wasn’t. Besides, whoever said geeks don’t get the girl? I enjoyed working out at the gym, so my physique was impressive, for a seventeen-year-old. An undisclosed advantage till then. When summer came I finally had the nerve to approach her at a pool party, hosted by a common friend. She wore her one-piece stunningly. The issue was, however, that a boy is not to ask a girl who happens to be a year older. ‘A bold move’ my friends considered it. No worries on my part; I went for it. At that moment I wasn’t quite sure if she pretended to like me to help me save face in front of my friends, or that her feelings were genuine, again, no worries; I took what I could get. We spent the entire summer together. She would sleep over sometimes, but I never made a move. I respected her, and I was quite sure I was falling head over heels in love with her. A year passed without us parting, and another party passed by. The same pool, the same friend, the same feelings. I asked her if she liked me when I first asked her to go out with me. Her face showed agitation, but confusion clouded her thoughts. She thought she had made it obvious from the start: she had loved how in love I had been and had felt the same from the start. Since then, the notion of not loving her left forever, and I would never leave her. We graduated and got a job in the great town she grew up in, it was like it was meant to be. At times, she would remind me what a fool I had been for not realizing that she liked me as much as I liked her that day at the pool. I loved her for it. It showed me her feelings were real. Our love deeply rooted; fortified thoroughly by our commitment to each other. We were connected, we shared one heart. It made us grow together and be happy. As some years passed, we found we enjoyed enjoying the tiny things. A sunset above the lake. A party with friends and family, or just a walk in the woods and getting home right in time for the rain to come rumbling down. Soon we were fortuitous enough to find our first house. She fell in love with it when she saw it, yet it felt out of reach. I just knew I had to buy it, for her, for us. With the help of her lovely parents, I was able to surprise her on a walk one day. As she was about to walk past the house and turn her head to the left to look at it, like she always did when she lingered past, I stopped. She asked me what I was doing with her bright blue eyes and expecting smile, thinking I was crazy for walking up to someone else’s house. I stopped at the front door and turned around, she had tears in her eyes. She looked at me the way she did when I first told her I loved her. In fact, she looked at me as if I had just made her the happiest woman in the world. It made me feel the way I wanted to feel for the rest of my life. That night we made love in our own little house for the first time; right after I had asked her to marry me. Six months after we moved in, we got married in her parent’s backyard. I thought I had seen all the happiness in the world when I gave her our house, but I was wrong. This time she was glowing, and I was the one who had to wipe away a tear. This was the life I had wanted for her and more. As happy as we were as newlyweds and with our perfect little house, I had a feeling that it was not going to last. I wish I had been wrong. We were talking about making our family complete. She had always loved to be a mother, and I was ready for fatherhood. But as we were discussing names for if and when this would come to pass, she fainted. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I would be lost without her. My heart stopped. That night was the worst night of my life, so far. She had a tumour on the left side of her brain. It was supposed to be operable; things would be fine, and my lovely wife would be fine. I assured her there would still be time to start a family. First, we were going to beat this, together. But we didn’t. The cancer did not go away after the surgery. In fact, it had already spread to other parts of the brain. The only thing to do was to make sure she was comfortable. I did what I could, and she said it was enough. But her faint breath told me it wasn’t. We moved in with her parents. I needed to pay the bills, and she needed to be home. Though home was with me, and she would only feel good if I were there, she said time and time again. Still, I knew, she needed to be home. Every afternoon I would come home, and she would be sitting in front of the attic window where we had our little nook. She had somehow found the strength to make herself some pillows to sit on. I should have been angry with her for wasting her strength and energy, but I understood. She had felt she needed to show me she was still there. That confident beauty from the pool was still there, waiting for me to make a move. I shed a tear every time I think of whom she used to be. I still love her, as does she love me as we have always loved each other. As I came to her every day after work, we would sit in that window to look at the paths we used to walk together. We could see our perfect little house, and we would dream about growing old together there, surrounded by our children and grandchildren. The hardest part was knowing that would never happen. As we sat in that same window, me talking about how I would love to go out for a walk with her and how the fresh autumn air always smelled so nice right before the rain. She would say it was time to go home, and we would make it just in time before the rain set in. This time I was the only one who was going to make it. I remember her smiling as she said she could feel the rain, even sitting in front of the window. But it wasn’t the rain she felt, it were my tears as I felt her breathing get softer and her heart grow weaker. She lay in my arms as she used her last breath to tell me she loved me. She was thirty-two years old when she died in my arms. Since her last beautiful afternoon, I still went up to that attic every day for two weeks to reminisce about holding my dying wife in my arms. Two weeks after she had passed, I decided it was time to move back home. I went up to the attic to sit on her pillows and look out the window one last time. As I sat down and looked down, there stood my wife. Dressed in her most comfortable walking outfit, ready to go for a stroll with me. My heart skipped as I saw her. I ran down and out the front door, but there was no one. I fell to my knees and screamed her name, but it wasn’t enough to bring her back. It had been a memory. I knew I had to let go, I knew then that I had to keep her memory alive. So I decided to go to that attic to sit by the window every week to reminisce about the beautiful life I had with her. The second time I saw her, I ran down again. And once more, nothing. I felt heartbroken all over again. It was starting to be too hard for me to reminisce. I felt I was losing her over and over again, so I made a choice. Two weeks later, she was walking past on the street when I looked out the window. She looked at me, beckoning me to come with her. I stood firm in my choice. I got up, walked to the door of the attic, and turned around. I looked around and said goodbye. It took all the strength and courage I had to make my move and ask her to date me that day at the pool, and I never regretted it for a moment. That’s why I knew I wouldn’t regret what I was about to do. I ran towards the window as fast as I could. I didn’t stop. When I got up from the pavement, my wife was still there, and we walked hand in hand to our perfect little house, together.