There's much to say about meeting certain people and feeling a real connection with them, and wanting, wishing they'd be part of our lives, even if only for a little while. If you've ever experienced meeting someone, almost by chance, the hours going by with the two of you just so deep in conversation, then maybe you can relate to this. I offer no apologies for writing this and expressing what I feel about what was perhaps the best surprise life has given me thus far.

The way to begin is perhaps to say outright that she and I both decided to keep things as they are. We have said our goodbyes and walked away from whatever it was we had with something special. Writing about it here is maybe my way of feeling everything I need to feel after that.

For years, I've become pessimistic with life and people. My past experiences have made me cold and doubtful of others, and I've sworn far too many times that I'll never need people or want another's company. This kind of outlook on life just invites more negativity, I know. I guess one upside of this is when I do get a positive experience with someone, it's always a pleasant surprise and I almost can't believe how lucky I am to have met such a person.

So, when someone reaches out, I try my best to set aside the pessimism and just be present. She actually caught me at a weird time. I've been sleep-deprived for weeks and coming off a manic episode. I was so physically exhausted but my mind was keeping me awake. It was nearing midnight, and a lot of things didn't make much sense to me. And then I got a message from her and we started talking. Things didn't start smoothly because I think I was just ready to give up and let her end the conversation if she wanted to. I told her the physical and mental state I was in, expecting she'd drop me. I was no fun and I just felt sorry I couldn't match her energy. But she trudged onward and I warmed up to her at some point. The evening went on and morning came soon after and we were still talking. I hadn't slept well in weeks but I had happily foregone another night for that conversation. God knows I've given up sleep for lesser reasons.

We were both cautious about things I think. I didn't have any expectations that she'd like me or what. I was half a world away, and she knew she wouldn't want to pursue anything at such a distance. I've expressed my inability to feel the things I've felt when I used to be capable of loving. We joked about how we're sure not to catch feelings for each other because we're far and probably not each other's types, along with all the terrible and out-of-place flirtations, knowing that nothing will come of it.

We had a nice time, and when it came to say goodbye, we agreed to keep it that way -- nice. I reluctantly bid her farewell. Of course, I wanted to keep talking, get to know her better, see where it takes us. But I held back as hard as I could. Later that day, I found myself checking for flights across the globe just to say, "hey I'm here now." I hate flying and would never endure flights of more than four hours. But this was different. It felt different. And I couldn't let go.

But no. I wrote before in one of the comments on someone else's post asking for advice on how to move forward: sometimes loving means loving from a distance, wishing her well, and letting her go. So I hold on to the words in our exchanges, of those hours of genuine, meaningful connection. I hold on to that, but I have to let her go.

I never thought being told "I'll be thinking of you sometimes" could mean so much. That this sentence, without being so much as a promise of commitment, hardly a hint of affection, or an expression of yearning, acknowledged what was true and real within those few hours together, and maybe it suffices.

It has to.