It was a cold winter night in New York City, one day before Thanksgiving. As I sat on the front steps which lead to my apartment, struggling to keep myself warm from the frigid temperature that encompassed my body. A single teardrop trickled down my face and collided with the frozen steps below. As I sat there watching the sadness from that first teardrop evaporate into the sky above, I could feel the dampness from a second teardrop as it came to a rest in the palm of my hand. You see, I was not returning home to visit for the holidays, but in fact I was heading home for good. I would be returning to my hometown of Portland, a place where I had for so long wanted to escape. The moment felt surreal. I had always known that life is full of pain, but nothing could have prepared me for the greatest pain in life, that of a broken heart. .
As I sat on those steps in absolute silence surrounded only by the darkness, and chill of that mid November night. I tried to envision the happiness that had once surrounded my body like the universe surrounding the earth. Of all the happy times I could recall as I sat there waiting the arrival of my cab. None were so vivid as that of the happiness that was brought into my world the night we met. .
I was introduced to Teresa through a mutual friend on the night of my twenty-third birthday. So I guess you could say Teresa was my birthday present, or at least in my eyes she was. At the time we were both still living in Portland, well sort of. I had lived in Portland my whole life but over the past couple of years had desperately wanted to escape. Teresa on the other hand grew up in Portland, and after graduating from the University of Oregon with a degree in journalism she decided to move to Seattle. She was in town making preparations for her cross-country move to New York City. A dream she has had since visiting New York City as a small child.
