It was just a dream.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself back in the beginning.

It certainly felt like a dream come true. All those things you wished for as a child suddenly brought to life. Living the dream as people these days like to say. And for a while, I think we were. Back before …

Now, I wish it was just a dream.

While it would be more accurately described as a nightmare, at least it wouldn’t be real. For dreams and nightmares are temporary. You can always wake up. At some point everything will go back to how it was before you fell asleep.

I close my eyes and try to remember how it was before. Back when you were nervous and awkward and shy. Back when I was excited and terrified and excited all over again. Those nights we lay in bed talking until dawn (well, talking and other things). Stumbling through the working day – exhausted but unable to wipe the smile from my face – just existing until I could see you again.

You weren’t my first boyfriend. You weren’t my first time. And you weren’t even the first person I’d said those three little words too. But you were the first time I really fell in love.

And fall we both did – further than we ever could have imagined.

Looking back, I wonder. If we had known just how far we would end up falling, would we have stopped it before things began? Could we have stopped, even if we tried? Or are some things doomed to be, no matter what?

The headlines painted you as the victim. Outsiders telling the story think that your ending was the worse. After all, I’m still here. I get to carry on. I wake from my dreams, while you are forever in an eternal sleep. You’re just a body of ash. An engraving on a stone plaque. A photograph and a memory.

The real story if you got off lucky. You escaped.