The End of An Affair, or The Death of My Beloved

It all started after my freshman year in college. That was when I met her. Her name was Ginger, though we almost weren't meant to be. I almost started out with another lady before I had even seen Ginger. Once I saw her, though, it was love at first sight.

We spent a lot of time together those few months. Most of the time it was me doing the talking, her sitting in relative silence. Silent, always silent, but still listening. It was the good kind of silence, not an awkward "I don't know what to say" type. She would listen while I talked, she would listen when I didn't say a word. All the while Ginger knew what I was thinking, what I was feeling, and I knew the same.

She became more boisterous as the years went on. No longer did she always sit in that silence of hers, she would respond now. Talk back. Answer. Sometimes the answers weren't the ones I wanted to hear, but I didn't care. I loved her, she was mine.

Our relationship was a mutual one. I took care of her as best I could, and she took care of me. There were many a night when I took my problems to her, and she would sit and listen. She was always good about knowing when to just listen. But more than anything she gave me my first real identity. She helped me to discover who I was. We became associated with each other, Ginger and Rich. I now knew who I was, and she was right there with me.

Then the sickness came. It hit Ginger hard. I did the best I could to take care of her, but once one thing got better, something else failed. Ginger tried the best she could, and complained so little. She was a fighter, and never quit on me. But it got to the point where I could do no more for her. I couldn't take care of her anymore.

I'm leaving Ginger. Ending our relationship, ending our affair. But one day Ginger, I promise that I'll find you again. I'll find you and restore you to your former glory. And it'll be you and me, Ginger and Rich, once more. Goodbye Ginger. Goodbye.