Parting is such sweet sorrow when you drop him off at the bus station this cold dark February morning in Maine. Its sweetness is the reminder that you are not affixed to each other by children, mortgage or habit alone; its sorrow the many lost opportunities for closeness.
A pair of star-cross'd lovers is a polite way to describe your beginning. He was dating someone his mother adored, and you were dating your boyfriend's (former) best friend. Being theoretically unavailable made flirting at the restaurant while you both worked harmless. Continuing to serve and pour each other wine after your shifts together, alas, was not.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet, but when that funny Valentine from "TC" arrived in the mail your heart pounded. His last name had not yet come up in conversation. Love is a smoke and is made with the fume of sighs, and sharing cigarettes between dances at Nectars had left no time for formal introductions. Added to your college drama were the recent advances of that blond European student, Thor C.
"I would not wish any companion in the world but you, and by the way, what is your last name?" you ask when you finally find him, breathless from running. His answer and mutual blushing complete the meet-cute.
The course of true love never did run smooth, and yours took the road from Burlington, Vermont down to Boston, and then north to Portland. Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by, and your two kids are no exception. Weeks pass sometimes without a second alone together. A rendezvous at a basketball game or ski meet is a date.
If music be the food of love, then texting is the poetry that now connects us. Your Valentine's words are few because his phone and style are old school, but less is sometimes more.