The first girl I loved was really mean to me in that she never really noticed me. Her complete lack of interest taught me I am not as exceptional as reading Harry Potter might suggest. I sometimes think of her fondly.
The second girl I loved tried to change me into something I could never be. She bitched and bitched until I became even more than she could imagine. I left her way behind, but I sometimes think of her angrily.
The third girl I loved said this to me: “I’m glad it’s somebody else. I was worried you were breaking up with me because you found out you were dying.” I sometimes think of her and cry.
The fourth girl I loved was pure sex and she was never attracted to me as much as I was attracted to her. She taught me I am even less special than the Harry Potter metaphor did. I think of her fondly always.
The fifth girl I loved was my wife for twenty years. She took most of my heart when she died. It’s in the ground with her.
The sixth girl I loved let me take her on wild rides in the desert and showed me how exciting this world can be, even for an old geezer like me. She took off with my wallet. I think of her as a lost opportunity.
The seventh girl I loved was a clone of my wife and I could not bear to love her anymore. She lives in Hong Kong now.
The eighth girl I loved was the third girl. Except she could not love me anymore. She loved her children and her grandchildren. She was still wise and said the most important sentence in my life before I said goodbye forever.
The ninth girl is you.