Our parents and friends and lawyers were the living examples of failed love, so even though we loved each other so much we could have made each other immortal, we didn’t walk towards an altar or put tags on it. There were no strings attached, no pressure. Dates would consist on hinting about a restaurant we would like to go, show up and sit on different tables to flirt with each other from afar. Sometimes we wouldn’t guess the correct restaurant but ran into each other on the midnight function at the movies.
We shared a few things, but ended up splitting bills for plays, meals and the price of our house. It’s not like the church would have approved of us anyway. On the birth of our first child, we gave him a generic last name so he wouldn’t be attached to us either, but mainly because we couldn’t split a last name that and connecting them with a hyphen is too pretentions. We shared those wonderful years together, on our own, holding hands, and then snapping them away, claiming them back.
When our child left us for another family who shared his same generic last name our hearts broke simultaneously, creating a very dangerous link that could threaten our love. We needed to distance ourselves. It was obvious neither of us wanted this, but what could we do against our odds of falling out of love? It’s funny how we ran into each other on a flight to Hawaii, the most favorite honeymoon destination in the world.