As long as I can remember, I believed that John Kennedy Jr (John John) and I were preordained for each other. He was my future soul mate, my inexorable destiny.
I knew without question that when we finally met the sky would open with éclat, white doves would be released from heaven, angels would sing and the faint sound of a harp would be heard playing in the distance.
He and I would run to each other with open arms, (in slow motion) he would lift me (as if I weighed nothing), spin me around, take me in his arms, kiss me and tell me that he had been waiting for me his whole life.
We would go on fabulous dates every day for a week, then on the eighth day we would get married (on Martha’s Vineyard of course). Eventually a little John John John would be born. We would raise him to be a beautiful man with quiet dignity like his father. We would age well, and live long happy lives, together always.
I lived in New York at one time in my life, and I kept my eyes peeled, on the lookout for my man. I was ready for that first moment to happen so that the rest of my life could proceed as it should.
I expected to see him roller blading through the streets of soho, riding his bike through the financial district, or doing push-ups shirtless in Central Park with our future dog at his side.
It never happened. As it turned out, we never crossed paths. We all know that he married someone who wasn’t me. On that lamentable day that his plane went missing the only music I could hear was a lugubrious song of lost love.
This post written in response to
DP, Daily Prompt: Born To Be With You
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