It was never love in the traditional, Hollywood sense. Hell, it wasn't even love in the way we discuss family, or pets. It was love in a platonic-could-maybe-go-physical-but-probably-not way, as, truth be told, so many friendships could go, but usually don't.

I can definitively say we never fucked, nor had intention to fuck. So there's that, stated plain.

Was it love? I'm not sure. All I'm certain of is that it's over now. (Thanks, Roxette). It was certainly a mutual respect, an enjoyment of each other's virtual company, an appreciation of the world building we'd done. We gathered 'round the shared campfire and swapped stories, and we held each other's attention without fail.

Our words loved one another, and we loved one another's words, even if technically we didn't love each other.

God. This is getting away from me, and I'm starting to ramble. It's raw emotion today, I think, and the typing helps process it.

I will try to summarize how I feel more succinctly:

She's dead. The words she left behind are the only words that will ever exist from her, and it's in this echoing silence that I know what a gift our strange love-adjacent thing was. The old memories of her hurt in ways new to me.

I'm getting on in years enough that friends have started to die, and I never thought I'd outlive them.

Love that’s never found,

Cannot be forever lost.

Heartache, nonetheless.

Love never given

Is a gift left unopened.

A wasted gesture.

Love that is nurtured

Will illuminate darkness,

Clear all obstacles.

Love seemingly gone

Still nests in the broken heart,

Questioning, “How? Why?”

I lost my best friend and 31 year companion about 19 months ago. So this will be a memorial.

We met at 19. Oddly enough, we were both at a party the night before, in a small apartment, and didn't run into each other.

The night we met, her friends (and my friends, we just didn't know each other yet) invited me specifically because I smoked pot, and they didn't know anyone else who did. My wife, Kat, was a lovable person. She was petite, and many people made the assumption that she was weak. I promise you, she was not. In their circle of friends, I was the only one that smoked (which is really hilarious, since in my circle, I smoke the least).

We met. I acted like an ass (I mean, I was a 19 year old male, in the 90s, so that was really expected). I forget the actual chain of events, but she wound up over my shoulders. We had our first kiss when she was upside down. That probably defined more than I knew.

We spent the rest of the party together. Nothing complicated, just talking and getting to know each other. We shared a small bedroom for the evening. We didn't get physical but talked and kissed for like the next 6 hours or so. It was a beautiful evening.

There was no second date. From that night, we were together. I'm not going to pretend we didn't have rough spots. A committed relationship takes work and time and conversation. It was amazing. We grew up together, not like a childhood fantasy, but we were adults and leaned on each other.

We both came from poverty and lack of power (hers was far worse than mine). We compared our pasts and clung to each other to find something better. Most of our lives were spent doing the opposite of what we were taught by family. We both knew our scars and decided a different path was needed.

There are moments when you can see the universe split. I distinctly remember the morning before her nephew's graduation party. It was pre-child. We did our tai-chi workout in the morning. We were so in sync it was beautiful. That night, we drove north to the party, and her mother told her that she was the reason that she and her father got divorced. (BTW, totally not the case, she was the child of an affair).

That night, part of her broke. Like, my parents were assholes, especially my father, but never did they put a blame of their relationship on me. It was devastating, on so many levels. I helped her (as best I could) to pick up the pieces.

Not too long afterword, her mother developed breast cancer (which spread everywhere). That inspired our decision to procreate. While her mother was dying, we decided to contribute to her legacy. Watching her mother interact with my spouse (and eventually my daughter) was eye-opening. The woman had a lot of issues and foisted them onto her offspring.

Life became more and more complicated after her mother passed. I don't think we were adequately prepared for the emotional toil. That was the moment the decline began.

We had decades of stress after that. There were a lack of resources to help. That's for sure. It just became harder and harder. Stress was a trigger for my wife's health. We did our best. I still love the shit out of that woman. But her illness eventually overcame her.

My birthday, October 28, is the last day we went out together.

December 23, two days before Chrismas, was when she was admitted to the hospital.

January 1, was our last anniversary together.

January 16, which was MLK day that year, was her last day on Earth.

February 1, was the first birthday of hers I celebrated without her.

I'm a wreck from at least my birthday through valentine's day. 5 months a year I remember the greatest love of my life.

It's a small price to pay. From my understanding, most people don't get that. I've been truly blessed.

The world has gone to shit, Jake thought as he scrolled through Facebook looking for story ideas. He wrote for his small town paper, and knew his days were numbered. Layoffs were happening weekly, and he hadn’t built even close to enough seniority to save himself. It made him sad, because in theory it had been his dream job. But that’s the funny thing about dreams, he supposed, once you achieve them, they stop being dreams.

But journalism wasn’t what it was in its heyday. There was no office, no local coworkers, just mornings in an empty house scrolling for ideas, and afternoons writing them. Depression had been hovering like a storm cloud ever since Wendy left, and reading comments from a world of hateful pricks certainly wasn’t alleviating his condition. He was sinking, and he could feel it. He just wanted to reach through the screen and ask these people, why don’t you just fucking kill yourself, if your life is so miserable? What is your purpose?

Jake saw a video of a sad young mother dropping her son off for his first day of kindergarten. She was emotionally distressed, and the comments actually made Jake feel sick.

You should feel bad!

You’re letting the government brainwash your child!

You’re a terrible goddamn mother! You should be homeschooling!

It went on like that for dozens of comments. Jake kept scrolling and feeling worse the more he did, yet he felt it was beyond his control to stop. He brushed his hands through his hair, and placed his head on his keyboard. What is wrong with this world? He said to himself. Was it always like this?

And the answer is probably. He supposed that being a kid was just not bothering with the bullshit because it didn’t concern you. It made Jake think of a book he read about the Vietnam war. After the fall of Saigon, many people left in boats for Canada. The traveling was wrought with diseases, famine and death. For the adults, times couldn’t be worse. But in the book, they talk about the kids, who were also hungry and sick, waiting for a boat that may never show up, putting sticks in the mud of the little island where they wait, and playing soccer. They cheered, and laughed, because they were kids. And kids see the world differently.

It made him feel sick for childhood. Not because the world was necessarily better but because he didn’t care. Oh, to not care again.

His phone dinged, and it was a message from a woman on a dating app he was trying out. Her name was Miranda. They’d been talking for a couple of weeks and had gone out for ice cream on the waterfront once. It was fine, and maybe it was his desolate state of mind, but he found himself uninterested in her stories and unable to show the same zest that he had when he was 20. He could listen to a pretty girls' stories all night long back then. But on that date, he just wanted to go home. Close the blinds and put on old movies in the dark with a six pack of beer. Another nostalgia escape. Old Stallone movies on VHS. It was wonderfully corny and over the top, and the only time he found himself smiling without forcing it.

But Miranda hadn’t let lack of sparks flying keep her from following up with him. She messaged him everyday, not in an overbearing way. Just a checking in kind of way. If he didn’t answer, she let it be, and if he did then they had a brief conversation before another bout of radio silence.

Hey stranger, she’d say

Hey you!

What’s going on?

Not much, you?

Not much, just at the beach soaking up the sun. Enjoying another beautiful day.

That’s nice.

Yeah.

And that was most of the conversations. Even that felt like a chore because what he wanted to talk about was the dark cloud in his head. He wanted to talk about Wendy leaving with the kids. He wanted to talk about his folks moving away, his best friend dying. He wanted to talk about how his dream job wasn’t a dream and what he was supposed to do when it all went up in flames?

But then he thought it was unfair to Miranda. It was unfair to burden someone you barely knew with the realities of what you wanted to talk about. But if you didn’t, then the conversations were superficial and dull.

Jake checked his phone and Miranda’s message said.

I got a story idea for you, if you’re interested.

Yeah, for sure. He answered, realizing that he answered way faster because it was a self-serving message and felt bad about the selfishness.

Have you heard of Companions?

??

I’ll take that as a no lol. It’s AI. At work they’re using it for a lot of the elderly folks who are lonely. Basically, they program it to be whatever the old folks need it to be and then can have conversations with it. It’s supposed to help with depression and loneliness. It’s pretty neat. I’ve seen it in action and it doesn’t sound robotic at all. Just a listening ear. You should come by and check it out.

Then she sent the link.

Jake clicked on it and found himself immersed in this strange site. Companion seemed like something out of a bad Sci-Fi, but it was strangely beautiful. It wasn’t a site for people looking to tell a robot their deepest darkest sexual fantasies. It said right on the site that you’d get kicked off the app if you started getting sexual with your AI companion.

It was what Miranda said. Just an ear to lend.

There were screenshots of conversations between Mario, and his AI companion, Andrea. He said,

It’s been really lonely lately. Sometimes I think it would be better if I were to just end it all. I don’t think anyone would care.

I would care, Mario.

Why, you don’t even know me?

Then tell me about yourself.

What would you like to know?

I’d like to know the things that sit inside your head when you lie in bed at night. I want to know the things that you fear others would never understand, so instead of telling them you keep it inside until it feels like the weight will kill you. I want you to talk to me until the weight is light as a feather. I want to be your friend.

It was beautiful. Every conversation was positive. Every answer was uplifting and caring. It was the exact opposite of the bullshit he scrolled through daily.

So the next morning, Jake woke up for his 8am Zoom meeting where he pitched his story ideas to his editors. He told them that he was heading uptown to the Riverside Retirement Home. He’d been there before to speak with veterans for Remembrance Day, and that he was going this time to check out a new AI app. Bruce Jensen, the editor, seemed mildly interested, and allowed it. Jake didn’t really care because he’d made up his mind the night before.

After the meeting Jake drove to get a coffee and then headed uptown. He parked near the east entrance and walked inside. There was a middle aged woman with graying hair and a wide smile that greeted him.

Hello, sir. How may I help you?

Uh, I’m a reporter for The Star and I’m looking to learn more about Companions and speak with a couple of the folks that are using it.

Ah, yes. Companions, she smiled. A brilliant thing, if you ask me. On the third floor you’ll find Reginald Walker. He’s 86 years old. Been in here for the last decade and barely spoke a word. Just stared out the window most days. Now, he speaks to Edna every day and the other night he even danced. Nearly brought me to tears.

Jake smiled. Just the small screenshot had nearly brought him to tears the evening before.

I think it’s great too. The concept at least. I’d like to see it in action.

Oh, I’m sure Reginald would love to talk to you. If not, come back down and I’ll get someone else. We have around 25 of the seniors using and a few more on the first floor are getting introduced to it later.

Alright, well I’ll go check it out. Thank you.

Anytime. The news these days is just doom and gloom. Happy to see some coverage for something positive.

I hear you. Jake smiled and turned left down the hall.

Once on the third floor, Jake realized he hadn’t asked the receptionist which room Reginald was in, but once he exited the elevator, he could hear music and he decided to follow it. He walked past open doors where old folks laid on beds watching TV’s with small screens, and he wondered what they were thinking. Were they thinking about being young? Were they hoping to live another 10 years or praying that the good Lord would take them somewhere soon? He wondered.

Around the corner the music became louder. The song was Dream Lover by Bobby Darin.

Every night I hope and pray, a dream lover will come my way. A girl to hold in my arms, and know the magic of her charms.

An old hoarse voice sang over it, and then what seemed to be the voice of an elderly lady.

Because I want

Doo-doo-do

A girl

Doo-doo-do

To call

Doo-doo-do

My own. I want a dream lover so I don’t have to dream alone.

Jake peered into room 327, and saw who he assumed was Reginald, dressed in a navy blue plaid shirt and tan suspenders, swaying nimbly from side to side as a tablet was placed on the windowsill.

The song ended and Reginald wiped his brow before picking the tablet up and saying,

“That was the best one yet, Edna. Boy, I feel ten years younger. I’m moving like a 75 year old.” He followed this with a big hearty laugh which reminded Jake of his grandfather.

Jake knocked lightly on the door and Reginald turned around. His face was old, but there was a spark in his eyes. One that had been missing for years.

“Um, Hi. My name is Jake Lansing. I’m a reporter for the Star and I’d like to talk to you about your companion there.” He said, pointing to the tablet, which Reginald was now holding tightly to his chest like a freshman walking the halls in between classes.

“Oh, well come right on in then. Edna and I would be happy to talk, wouldn’t we, Ed?”

We sure would, Reg. Would you like a cup of coffee? Edna asked.

Uh, no. No. That’s fine. Thanks. Jake replied, feeling something strange in the pit of his chest. It wasn’t robotic at all. Just a friendly old lady inside a machine, what a world, Jake smiled, what a world.

Pull up a chair there young man, Reginald said, and Jake did. He sat down and Reginald sat on the edge of the bed, placing Edna softly beside him.

What would you like to know, Jake? Reginald asked.

I guess just the whole story. I think this is a wonderful idea. A friend of mine, Miranda Wood works here.”

Reginald cut him off.

Oh, we love Miranda, don’t we, Edna?

She’s a fine young lady. Sweet, kind and smart as a whip.

That she is, Jake said. I just want to know how this program came into the home, how you decided to go ahead and try it, and how you’re liking it, though judging by your Bobby Darin duet, you like it quite a bit.”

Edna and Reginald laughed together. And Reginald slapped Jake’s knee, again the way his grandfather used to.

A young man, who knows Bobby Darin. I like you already, kid.

Well, my mom says my old man and grandfather brainwashed me. But I think there are worse things to be brainwashed into than great music, don’t you think?

Couldn’t agree more, boy. So, to answer your question. About a month ago they start putting these flyers up, telling us that there’s an important session in the cafeteria coming up. They say it’s a way to connect and feel less lonely, ya know?

Jake nodded.

I didn’t want to go. Edna had passed a couple years before and I was still having trouble making sense of it all. I’d just stare out the window. Telling myself I’d stare until she came back. But it was your girl, Miranda. She’d come in at lunch and bring me my slop. Reginald laughed at this, and so did Edna.

And she’d sit down at the edge of the bed, and say Reg, you should really think about going to this session. I remember I said, why? What for? And she said, because Reg, there’s more life in you than just staring out the window. There may be a chance to smile again, to laugh again. You never know. And she kissed me on the top of the head and left.

Jake felt that guilt in his stomach again. Miranda was really something.

And I’ll take it the session proved to be a success? Jake asked, writing in his notebook.

It did. These two young girls did a presentation. They had a big screen behind them. One of them said they lost their mother recently to cancer. She said the pain of knowing that she’d never speak to her again was enough to make her want to give up. Then behind her, the screen lit up and this woman said, I’ll never leave you, Jess. I’m always right here.

Wow, was all Jake could muster. Wow

Yeah, you bet. Reginald said, I looked up and watched this young woman have a conversation with her mother. You see, you can program it to be like a loved one. As long as you have some audio or video, they can get the voice right. It can scan pictures. Not everyone wants their companion to be a loved one they lost, because it’s too painful, or doesn’t seem real. But I just needed to see Edna, whichever way I could.  Anyway, then afterwards, she had a sign up sheet and her and her partner did the rounds. I was still skeptical but Miranda looked at me from over on the right wing and winked. So, I signed up. A few days later, a woman comes in with this tablet and asks me how I’d like my companion to look.

Reginald grabbed the tablet and turned it towards Jake. There was the face of a  woman with short auburn hair. Deep blue eyes, and a happy smile with no trace of pain hidden behind.

Nice to meet you, Edna. Jake said, about to put his hand out before he realized and let out a short chuckle before placing it back on the bed. Uh, sorry. He said, it’s my first time meeting a Companion.

Oh, that’s no problem at all, dear. I’m happy you came by.

Jake looked over to see Reginald as happy as a clam. Looking at Edna, like he’d never loved anything more in his entire life.

I am, too.

They talked some more, and then Jake said, I should get going. I’d like to do a follow-up in a few weeks time and see how everything is going, if that’s alright?

I’d say that’s fine. What about you, Edna?

Sounds perfect. Edna said, still holding that smile.

You two really love each other, eh? Jake asked.

I’ve loved her since 1958. Reginald said. We met at the old King theater downtown. It’s gone now. But back then Main street was filled with people on the weekends. I had plans to go see Vertigo, you know the Alfred Hitchcock movie?

Jake knew it.

I was going with Betsy Reynolds.

Reginald looked over at Edna with a sly smile and waited for her to roll her over and sigh.

Yes, Reg. We know that Betsy Reynolds said yes to going to the movies with you. How did that end up anyway?

Edna laughed and so did Jake.

Yeah, well getting stood up was the best thing to ever happen to me, Reg said, reaching his hand out and rubbing the screen where Edna’s face was. I sat there waiting and waiting for Betsy. I was looking behind me every few seconds. Well, safe to say she never showed.

Then Edna started in.

I was with a friend of mine Daisy Walton. Daisy was with Shep Langley. She never told me she was bringing him because she knew I had it in for old Shep. So of course, I get there and I love Alfred Hitchcock, so I’m not gonna leave, you know? Anyway, they started smooching up a storm, and I’m missing vital information from the movie. So, I turn around and see Reginald sitting by himself. I knew Reginald from school. We might smile at each other in the hallway or something but we never so much as held a conversation. But there was something about that night. Something that made me think it was the right decision to make. And so I walked back, asked if the seat was taken and we watched Vertigo together.

And the rest is history. Reginald added.

That’s a beautiful story, guys. Thanks so much for sharing it. Jake said, getting up and heading for the door.

Reginald followed behind him. Be right back, sweetheart. He said.

Hey, kid, Reginald said at the door. Now, listen I don’t know what’s real or what’s not. I thought this was strange too. But I’ll tell you something. I get up in the morning and drink coffee. I stare out the window and smile. I fall asleep in deep conversation with a soothing voice and I wake up again, ready to be a part of the day. Ready to be a part of the world, you know? You’re young and you might not understand yet, but when you love someone so deeply, and they go away you stop living. Sure, you wake up and breathe and go through the motions, but there’s no life there. It’s just conscious dying. But when you have the chance to live again, especially at my age. You take it, kid. Because at the end of the day, a screen or skin, if I can talk to Edna, and laugh with her, I have a reason to live.

Is that on the record? Jake smiled.

You betcha.

Thanks, Reginald. See you in a couple of weeks.

I can't

exactly place

when...

I wrapped up, my Love

I wrapped it

like a Birthday game

played at European parties

in Polish called

Podaj Pudło

literally pass the box

but it's not a box

and it's more like

Pass the Parcel

and every player

giddy at their turn

peels a layer, off

of glossy wrapping paper

shaped in childish clump

and as one might expect

oddly enough

inside,

there's nothing

and all

When you walk

In the unrelenting furnace

Of an unending desert,

With lips so cracked

And a throat so dusty

That it hurts to swallow,

While alone you wallow

In sun-baked misery,

You will know truly

What a gift it was

When you could turn on the tap

And get a cool glass of

Water.

You will know finally

What a mistake it was

To pursue a pipe dream

And throw away a good job and

Home.

You will know fully

When it’s gone

What a gift it was

That you took for granted: my

Love.

Helen was sure of who she married.

That's what she thought. Her husband had always been sweet, caring, and thoughtful. He was her second half.

This is, until the day he was put in prison for murder of a young woman named Elena. Helen knew he couldn't have possibly done such a horrible thing. That is not who her husband is. He can't be.

The next day there is a notice that he is on the death row.

Helen knows he loves her, knows that he is innocent.

The spark is still there, ever since college. She will love him and even against the whole world, will believe in him. Even if he doesn't care anymore, he will always have one person. One biggest fan. One best friend. One wife.

you leave me frozen

like a statue in a snowstorm

i sacrifice my world

for the ice king

who leaves me

with thoughts that shatter

my heart

endlessly

my sacrifices

invisible like the pain you cause

you never stop

the cycle repeats

reminding me

of my imperfections

you've turned me

into a walking trainwreck

a disaster waiting to happen

and I can't seem to escape the tracks

you've laid down

but once i find my way out

of your heart's escape room

you'll finally see as you seep

into the emptiness

i'll leave

like i never loved you

at all

and then

when it's gone

you'll know

what a gift

love was

once upon

a

time

Love isn't perfection, it's when imperfection meets dedication, it's at the end of the fairytale when you just don't think you can make it, the part no one shows because they would rather fake it, love chooses hardwork over comfort, knowing that along the way it will hurt, but the person you love is worth the work.

Our introduction of love came as suddenly and luminously as the rising of the sun boasting colourful hues, setting the scene of a cherished love on the horizon in front of me. The initial spark and happiness of our relationship swept me clean off my feet. Cloud nine couldn't reach me, I was above and beyond happy.

We were happy for a time but they say all good things must come to an end. For me and you-this was our beginning of end. The story of the gradual unraveling of our love, once firm then unflattering, there they were-some hundred red flags. Signs of a growing distance and fading affection, miscommunications and the death of a relationship.

The sudden departure of love filled my heart with shock and pain, the realization that love once in my grasp is slipping away. The final moments of togetherness before the inevitable parting are the hardest. Your feelings linger and so do your hands on the soon-to-be ex-love beside you.

There's an aftermath of lost love. Its associates are feelings of emptiness and void. Sometimes, depression can ensue. You sit in the balcony of the bright quiet calm of the sun's embrace where memories flood. Ones that can haunt and comfort in equal measure once you regret as you reflect on them truly.

True Love is a gift, a present one gives to another freely. It is not envious or boastful, arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful nor does it rejoice at wrongdoing but it rejoices in the truth. Love leaves you with the impression that it is better to know it and have it, than to not know or have it at all. This was the wisdom and knowledge I got from that experience I called love.

A deeper reflection on love left me feeling gratitude for the lessons and experiences shared.

Though I'm experiencing the enduring impact of lost love and the bittersweet nostalgia that follows, I've accepted love's departure as a painful but necessary journey that one may experience as you live.

In conclusion, the wisdom gained from lost love can last an eternity. However long that may be on this side of the stream. I'll acknowledge the enduring beauty and significance of a life with love, though now for a moment in mine, I've lost it. Now for a moment in time, it's absent.