Love. It’s the one thing we hope will turn out flawlessly. We’ll find the right guy or the right girl and be hopelessly obsessed with him or her. We’ll be the perfect match for each other. We’ll have the ideal wedding with all of the family there. We’ll grow up and raise kids—live happily ever after. When we’re both eighty, we’ll sit on the porch of our house and watch our grandchildren play in the yard. We will die in each others arms and be buried peacefully together.

Theoretically speaking, that is. Sometimes it’s just not meant to be. Or maybe it is meant to be and we’ll never find out. The one I love, the one I’m meant to be with, is married to the man of her dreams. I’d give anything to have her in my arms instead of his.

She probably doesn’t even remember me. Why would she? Now she’s happily married to her perfect man and has children—three beautiful children. I wish we’d had our own children. I wish I could go back in time and take back those three little words.

It’s too late now. I’m married and have my own kids; but every so often, I still can’t help but think how much better it would’ve been if they were her kids, too. I love my wife, but in my heart I know—even now—I’d always pick her instead.

She saved me. She saved me from myself. She saved me from my family, my fate. I owe my life to her. I just wish I could thank her.

I don’t know why I said those words when I did, but I said them. We were nothing more than friends. We became friends during the war, two kids pushed together by the terror.

I told her everything; after all, she was the only one I could trust. She was my only true friend. She had others, but I only had her. She told me a lot about herself. I can’t be sure she told me everything, but I hope she did. She was my best friend.

She would complain about him for hours on end: How he always kept her waiting, how she was so certain he didn’t like her…and yet she still loved him. He was around her very often; she’d always gape at him as if he were some celebrity. I knew she loved him, but I could always imagine her and me together…nevertheless, I tried to not get my hopes up.

I know she never loved me. I’d watch her when she was around him. I could tell by her face that I wasn’t the guy on her mind. She was always thinking about him, watching him. He shattered her heart when he broke up with her at the end of her fifth year.

Comforting her was out the question. All I could do was talk her out of hurting herself. She was very close to committing suicide at one time, though now you’d never be able to tell. His stupidity tortured her.

We’d meet in the kitchens every night and stay up late, just talking. When we were around other people, however, we had to act like we hated each other. I only had one class with her: Charms.

I hated and loved that class. I got to watch her, but she watched him. She glanced at me every once in a while and when she did, the pain was so clear on her face it killed me. I wish I could’ve taken her pain away

I wanted to make her forget him; he didn’t do anything to help her. There were times when she would ignore everyone for a week or more. It killed me to see her every day and not know what she was thinking. I was always afraid she would hurt herself.

I wanted to take her pain upon myself—to spare her. I also wanted to kill him for putting her through this. How could he be so blind? How could he not see her pain?

I blew every chance I had of staying friends with her. I told her how I felt. I couldn’t help it. It slipped. And then I ran. I wish she’d followed me, even though I knew she wouldn’t.

Those three words changed my life. I still wish I could go back in time and jinx my own mouth shut. Then maybe we could still be friends. I’m just glad she can be happy without me. I’ve leaned to live without her for now, but there will always be a hole in me that she left; nothing can fix it.

I wish this had never happened. I wish she loved me. I wish I hadn’t said those words. I wish we could still be friends. I wish love always turned out perfectly.

But it doesn’t–not for everyone, at least. She got her perfect ending. I hope it always stays perfect for her. I don’t want her to go through the pain of losing him like I lost her.

I wish I never said I love you.