Dear Rachel

I think one of these days you'll find this post, curious to see where the "unfinished symphony" stands. To this day, I really don't know who you are; you're a figment of someone else's associations, a shopping cart of traits packaged into who you wanted to be and not who you were.

And yet, your actions told me everything about you -- your incurable shyness, your fears of rejection, your need to stay within your safety zone -- and I respected you for who you were. I couldn't jump in when you wanted me to and at a very deep level I regret it mightily -- yet another "what might have been" forks in life that I chose a different path. When I look at images of your eyes I dare to dream of silly lives of fanciful times in uncharted adventures. Your eyes seemingly speak to me in soft lullabies with a tender voice that supplicates my fantasies to carry on with endless dreams romanticized.

But then I wake up to the reality that this is all just a construct of my imagination and we were never closer than 50 feet away on that fateful night. My choice was made.

Was that my regret, or was that yours?

Maybe some day you'll tell me, Rachel?