It was just under a year since the day we met, that we became more than friends.

When the Fall Semester began, I was eager to see him again. We kept in contact over the summer months through Facebook, and couldn’t stop myself from smiling whenever I thought of him.

When I did see him again, I didn’t say “hello.” I was exiting my class and was walking across the stone path toward the Midway when I saw him. He was walking in tangent with another female, and even though my eyes lit up and I wanted to run towards him and give him a hug- I didn’t. I stopped.

I felt ashamed. I didn’t know this woman, and made the logical conclusion that she was his girlfriend, and that it would be stupid of me to even consider him and I ever becoming a couple. Up until this point, I never shared my feelings with him. I wanted to, but believed deep down then that he did not feel the same way. I told myself not to bother, not to try.

So I turned on my heel and walked away before he could spot me.

I don’t remember who initiated the next step. But before I saw him again, I found myself flirting with a different man. This man was also a student of the college, a military veteran. He was attractive, single, and available. But he wasn’t what I wanted. Wasn’t who I wanted.

I found myself texting Savitar again. I found myself wanting to be by him, missing him; his company. Even if we never became a couple, I missed our times we shared together. I enjoyed spending time with him, and he seemed to feel the same with me.

He invited me over to his apartment. I met him at the back parking lot, as he stood by his car waiting for me. I was blushing, nervous, and yet so calm finding myself in the seat beside him in his black Honda once again. I felt almost at home with him.

Shortly after I spilled it to him, telling him how I felt. Telling him of the fears I had by telling him this, about how I thought he was already taken for.

He felt the same way about me, but warned me. He warned me to not get mixed up with someone like him.

I didn’t listen.



He played the part he knew I wanted, the role I needed then. He was kind, generous, and seemed to have a solution to all that worried me. There was a calmness to him, whenever he walked within a room, the air would cease to electrify, and all eyes would go to him.

We had a class together. We met out of chance, as we both wandered around our classroom, our professor egging us to find a group of people to work with for the entirety of the semester. Our group consisted of seven persons, including ourselves, and as we all stood together in the hallway, we wrote our phone numbers down on a sheet of paper as we inquired of places to go to in town the following day, to “get to know one another better”.

He suggested a place. A restaurant/bar in town that served hamburgers at “half off” on Tuesdays, and we all agreed. I was new, and quiet. I piped up, mentioning that I did not live in town, and would need a ride to get to where we needed to be. I felt ashamed to ask, and almost worried to be a burden to my other group mates. He looked over at me, and offered to take on that task.

I grew close to him within those few months, consuming every drop of word that escaped his lips. I knew of his marriage and divorce with his ex wife, how he decided to return to school to advance his career, how he was raised deep within the woods of Colorado and had a son who almost mirrored him in image.

My friendship with him grew deeply, but my insecurities were present, and mocking me for desiring someone who was above me. I was still merely a child, living with my parents at the time, with no real sense of the realities of the world. He was beautiful and successful and though he was in a rut at the time, he knew exactly how to get everything he needed or wanted.

The semester was nearing an end and I’d grown fearful that I’d lose my friend. We all know how these things work: you’re in a group together for a class and are on friendly terms, and once the time is up- you go your separate ways, never to speak with one another again. I didn’t want that to happen. One day, we were spending time with one another and he offered to drive me back to campus so I could be on time for my next class. I paused before exiting, my heart skipping a beat. I looked over at him, and asked, “Are we friends?”

It was bold, upfront. To the point.

“Yes, of course we are.” he said, smiling.

And we hugged, but it was extended, I didn’t want to let go.









It was a California winter.

I was in a foreign place, lost in the woods as I stumbled through, trying to find my way. I was twenty then, he was merely thirty one. He was blond, handsome, and had eyes that crashed ocean waves.

Just a year prior, I was engaged to a boy, and I had thought my life was set in stone. But when family dilemmas arose, I had to make a quick decision. I left the town I knew, the busy streets of Los Angeles, to nearing almost Oregon territory. I left everything I knew behind: my childhood best friend (whom I still speak with weekly), a group of friends I stuck to in my early beginnings of college, cultivated out of a prearrangement from back in high school which introduced a few new faces, and a relationship that I thought would last a lifetime.

I moved up North and soon I was alienated in a cove, inside an old cabin tucked deep in the woods. Very little interactions with the outside world, I found myself more drawn to nature. Living my first nineteen year surrounded by noise and metal that the calming flow of creeks across rocks soon calmed my anxieties. But I was not completely happy. I was alone.

Then I met him.

He offered to give me rides around town whenever we were at the college together. He let me sit in the front passenger seat beside him and he listened to everything I wanted to say.

I told him about my ex. I confessed personal struggles as I inquired him of his own. It was the way he spoke, they way he chose his words constructively. He played the part he knew I needed.



The Fairy Tale

“Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone…”

-The Brother’s Grimm

I was raised to believe that if I there was something I wanted to achieve, I could, if I tried hard enough. If only I applied myself, that I would hold the world in my hands, and nothing could keep me from achieving these dreams.

I remember looking to God, I remember running to friends and lovers, exclaiming my passions and desires and that I would, one day, have everything I ever wanted. When I was a child, a tiny thin framed little girl, her hazel eyes wide in excitement and her smile beaming, I’d tell you everything.

I was not loved by everyone.

I was not popular, I was not societies perception of pretty. I spoke out of turn and cursed like a sailor. But I had drive. I had desire. I had something that was different, than anyone else. I was loved by those who mattered.

And I was loved by you.

But like all fairy tales, we need to start from the beginning.





All writings in this blog are based on personal events and accounts; under the right of the author, Annamarie Dalton Louise Callahan (annamariiedalton), the retellings of those events may be embellished and dramatized.

Names have been changed to the respect of those involved.