How sad to say that it is a comfort to know that other people made the same mistakes I did. I got pregnant and married at eighteen, instead of going off to polytechnic to do my degree in law. The relationship I had before I met my husband was the one I should have stayed with and I only finished it because I had broken my record of how long I had gone out with someone (we had been together for eight months, which beat the four months of an earlier relationship). It was also because my mam and dad thought her was too old for me (I was seventeen and he was twenty-one and he wasn’t allowed in the house, as we didn’t have a lot of money and my parents didn’t want to feed him, occasionally). Several years and three sons later, someone told me how my real love had gone to visit my nan several times and how he would have loved for us to be together, even though, by then, I had children. Why did no-one tell me? Four disastrous long-term relationships later (but with three gorgeous boys from my first marriage), I still think of Iain, the man who really loved me and I don’t want to one day die and not know if he had a happy life. Every day, I hope that something might appear. I don’t know what this something is going to be, though he did have a Rhodesian accent and had three siblings and so may be able to be traced. Mmm …. . It’s sad … .
I've poured my heart. It's rare I do this but it feels okay.
