My First Love Died on My 17th Birthday — Thirty Years Later, a Young Woman Who Looked Exactly Like Her Appeared at My Door

one more milestone.

After one more excuse.

Every year she intended to return.

Every year fear won.

Near the end she wrote:

“What I know now, that I didn’t understand at seventeen, is that time doesn’t make difficult things easier.”

Then came the line I couldn’t stop reading.

“It only makes them more expensive.”

By the final paragraph, tears blurred the ink.continue reading …