That night was supposed to be an ordinary night. I could've mapped it out as if I were psychic: will arrive at venue at 9pm, listen to a couple of nice renditions of first world angst at around 11, head home at 2 or 3am, grab a bite to eat, get home at 3 or 4am , then sleep. No one expected that that would happen, except you, of course, you sentimental oaf.

After the band was done with the second song, you announced that someone would be singing with you on stage. It was really easy to inch closer to where you were since there were a lot of empty tables that night.

Then there she was. By the way her arms stiffly remained by the sides of her small body, you could tell how shy she was, how new at all of this she seemed. But she kept her head up, her gaze never wavering from yours. It was as if at that point in time, we did not exist. She had on those little cream-colored boots that made her look steady on her feet. Then the song started and we were all lost in this picture: you, bending your head close and inviting her to come closer, to not be afraid. And she was not. She was not.

I have known that kind of love. Distance does not lessen it, or make it dry up and wither eventually. That's the kind of love that will help you bear many things, the only kind you'll ever honestly be thankful for.