by Beth Powers
I'm not sure you know who I am anymore, or else you probably wouldn't have asked me for help. You told me you loved me once, but I doubt you remember the day you broke my heart as vividly as I do.
Let me refresh your memory. After all, that moment is seared in my mind for eternity:
Maybe you'll remember the daring rescue you had just accomplished to save me from the clutches of your enemies. We stood on the roof of my building. It was one of those warm summer nights where the stars were almost visible through the city lights. It smelled like rain.
"I'm sorry, but you have to understand, sweetheart," you said, squeezing my hand, "We can't see each other anymore--it's too dangerous. My enemies know how much you mean to me, and they'll keep using you against me." You brushed away the single tear that dropped from my eye and told me with the utmost sincerity, "Besides, I don't want to be distracted worrying about you when I'm off saving the world."
Okay, maybe that last was a bit of an exaggeration, but the idea was there. Your words crushed me--you told me I was a distraction, a danger, a burden. Devastated, I cried for days, hoping you would realize that you were wrong and show up on my fire escape. But I came to realize that I couldn't change you. I could only choose my own path. And from that day forward, the only thing I've regretted was not telling you that you were wrong.