A Love That Was Never Meant to Be

I am a woman of the Scottish highlands, in the quaint town of Inverness. The air is always crisp, laced with the scent of fresh pine and the faint whisperings of the Loch Ness not far off. This was where I met him, where I discovered a love that was never meant to be.

His name was Alexander. His charm was as vivid as the emerald-green hills of our homeland, and his laughter was as warm as the golden sunsets that graced our skies. We met at the historic Inverness Castle, on a day when the heather was in full bloom, painting the landscape with shades of lilac and pink.

From that day, Alexander and I became inseparable. We'd spend hours lost in conversation on the banks of the River Ness, under the watchful gaze of the grand St Andrew's Cathedral. Yet, beneath the joy, a sense of foreboding lingered. Alexander was promised to another, a woman of nobility from Edinburgh. Our love was a secret passion, confined to the hidden corners of Inverness.

As the day of Alexander’s predestined union approached, our stolen moments became more desperate, more intense. I recall our last rendezvous, in the solitude of the Caledonian Canal. The setting sun painted the water a melancholic orange, reflecting the agony of our goodbye. Alexander held me close, whispering promises of a love that could not survive the dawn.

The following day, he was gone, swept away to a life that did not include me. I was left with nothing but the echoes of his laughter, the ghost of his touch, and a heart overflowing with unfulfilled promises.

Do you believe in a love that persists beyond its time, beyond the realm of possibility? Or is it better to let go of a love that was never meant to be?