Part One - Falling Hard.
The first time I laid eyes on him, he was sitting at the bar, whiskey in one hand, slice of DiGiorno pizza in the other. It was a Friday night at the only bar in town, so it was loud and crowded with drunken people. He sat there, in the middle of the crowd, speaking to no one, looking perfectly content, eating his frozen pizza, and looking more alive than any person I'd ever seen.
The town of Philipsburg, Montana has a population of less than 800 people. I had lived there for a year by then and knew just about every face in the bar. This guy was someone new. I watched him from my spot at the other end of the bar. My eyes studied his strong jaw line, rugged beard, athletic build and his crystalline blue eyes. His hair was a disheveled crown of golden light brown, blond in a way that only long days under the sun can do. Skin sun-kissed in that same way.
I later found out that he had just finished his bicycle trip from Seattle to New York when I saw him for that first time. He had come to Montana to finish work on his cabin just north of town. That night in the bar was the first hot meal he'd eaten in week.
I got up the courage to approach him that night and we talked about life, travel, and religion. We fell in love immediately. Three months later, I moved to Washington to be with him. For a year and seven months, we've been practically inseparable.
He's been my best friend, travel partner, financial advisor and the love of my life.
Last week we called it quits.
This isn't a love story.
This is a story about leaving someone you still love.