I was 21 years old and working as managing editor of a weekly newspaper. I had just gotten out of a three-year relationship and I wasn’t dating anyone. As I worked alone at my office on a Sunday afternoon, a young woman dropped by to see me.
She was on her way back to her college after a weekend visit home. We had had a flirtatious relationship but it hadn’t been anything serious. Now that I wasn’t dating anyone, though, she had come to see whether I’d be interested in turning our flirtation into something serious.
I felt conflicted. I was attracted to her, but I knew I wasn’t going to date her. Maybe I wasn’t really completely over the relationship that had just ended, I told her. She understood. I kissed her as she left and we remained friends.
We both moved on to other relationships and I didn’t think any more about the conversation. I assumed she hadn’t thought about it for years, either. About a month ago, I realized that I lied to her that day — but only because I had lied to myself.
I decided it was time to call her — after all these years — and explain what had really happened.

As we enjoyed the sunset together, language and borders didn’t matter
We can’t control timing of death, just what we do as we’re waiting
Your life is built from choices, while the days of your life go by
Search for sexual pleasure can slowly destroy genuine intimacy
If romantic love is real and true, does it never really fade away?
Should a rational person question orthodox assumptions on climate?
Once the dream of millions, is U.S. citizenship becoming a burden?
Hypocritical Republicans wimp out on free market when politics calls
Missing someone creates intense physical sensations in my heart