And you will dance with your beautiful bride on the special day and not a thought will cross your mind about the fire you felt for years. Then one day you'll sit by a fire while she asks you about that photograph, and you won't find the words, but "just a good friend," as the fire starts to ignite your memories. 

Ten years later, as you're unpacking, your children will ask, "who is she," and you'll stop for a moment. You had forgotten and you'll say, "it's just a photo of a friend."

You'll watch outside your window as children's boots crush the snow, and you'll think about the time you and her felt magic on a cold night downtown, walking with coffee cups in hand. The twinkling lights hitting faces and how you wished this feeling wouldn't go away. 

The summer and fall you found the hardest hurt, when you had silence and you asked "why?" Then you got it back, and you told yourself I won't lose this again. The feeling of her in your arms as you twirled her to the music at midnight. Maybe you hadn't realized how you kept pushing her away rather than pulling her in. Then you remember how alive you felt, while breaking all the same.