Jack of Harts

I was eighteen going on thirty and my world had come apart. The great loves of my life were gone, and I was too proud to go after them. They would come back. I knew it in my bones. No place was as good as Northern Minnesota to live. They would come back tomorrow. Next week. Next month. Next year. I graduated and went to college where I majored in music and beer and girls that weren’t them. Because they hadn’t come back. I never did move on. Yes, there were girls, but none held a candle to them. And I never did leave to follow them, because that would have required me admitting I was wrong. So I never moved on. I just convinced myself I was happy. That I loved my life. That it was Heaven on Earth. And it was. God help me, it was. I never wanted to leave that place. I loved it all.