My sister is far more perceptive than I give her credit for.

When I mentioned to my parents and her that I was going to help stream a friend’s proposal at Disneyland, she immediately texted me individually to ask if I was okay.

“Wasn’t sure if this was a slightly sensitive subject for you.”

“Not really. It’s been many years.”

Truth be told, I hadn’t given it enough thought for it to be a sensitive subject. If I had taken some time to consider it, it may have caused me to lament love lost, but I didn’t, so I didn’t. 

Part of what I said is true. It’s going on four years since I broke up with Aimee. I hardly think of her anymore, and because of how things ended, there isn’t much fondness with which I recall her. And yet here she is in my writing, so that should tell you how things are going.

When I look back on those memories of my meticulously planned proposal on the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland – working out a plan with the Jungle Cruise skipper to stop the boat just past the Scweitzer Falls so I could propose, buying tickets for friends and family so they could be there on the dock to celebrate, making a lunch reservation so we could have a proper party, photographs, video, all of it – it’s like I’m recalling something I watched on TV. It happened, and boy, was it great, but it’s over now, long over and gone. 

And while that’s not the happiest memory, it hasn’t dampened me being a hopeless romantic. I believe in love, and I’m going to do what I feel is right in the service of love. And so I willingly, gladly set out in 90-degree heat with a loose plan and an overheating phone just waiting to capture that magic moment for someone else.

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