I have a box in my garage labeled “Past Lives”. In it are beribboned tufts of my horses’ manes, old high school dance photos and programs, a few dried corsages, a pile of yellowed letters, some notebooks with adolescent poems written in pink ink, old passports. And a photo of him.

Today is his birthday. You know – him, the One. If you’re very lucky, you’re married to him. But for most of us, he’s a lost love. Often, he’s a secret we hold onto deep in our hearts. And on certain days of the year, it’s an ache that can’t be dulled.

Sometimes he’s called The One That Got Away. But how did that happen? Why did that happen? I have very few regrets about my life. I just don’t go there; what’s the point? But if I did, I would regret leaving him. I would mourn what is lost. I only allow such painful reminiscing on certain infrequent days. Today is one of those days.

Real love is rare. But when you’re young and inexperienced, how do you know that what you feel is the real thing? How do you know without more “loves” to lay next to it, to compare? For me, finally, it was simply too big. The connection was too strong, too deep, too full of bright, eternal promise for a teenage girl to absorb. It was love that dazzles, the kind of love that without effort, repels every attempt at dissolution. It was Romeo and Juliet love – young, fresh, impetuous, irresistible. The kind of love that’s hard to trust because it’s so compelling. It overwhelms every other sense, including good sense. It’s love that takes your breath away and the ensuing sense of suffocation can be too frightening for one so new to real love.

So I left him. I dated other guys over the next few years, even loved some of them. But all the time, he was there in my heart, waiting. When I was a senior at BYU, with no idea at all about what to do next, I decided to marry the one I currently loved. I felt the ratification of heaven. My choice was good; it made sense. I really did love him. I would go forward and create a good, sensible life with this good, reliable man. Even then, as I planned a wedding, I was vaguely aware that he was still there, buried deep in my heart, my one true love. I paid no attention. It was far too risky to pay attention to my heart’s deep desire.

I did have a good life with the good man I married. It lasted a long time, but now it’s over. And all that long time, I felt the Other hiding out in the deep recesses of my soul. He showed up in dreams. He made his way into poems, without intention on my part. Certain song lyrics would draw instant tears to my eyes and heart, like this song by the Moody Blues:

I know you’re out there somewhere
Somewhere, somewhere
I know you’re out there somewhere
Somewhere you can hear my voice

I know I’ll find you somehow
Somehow, somehow
I know I’ll find you somehow
And somehow I’ll return again to you.

It was completely exasperating, the way he would pop up in my life at random, infrequent, inconvenient times. But whatever I tried, in a sincere effort to banish him from my heart, failed. He refused to leave.

I really don’t know what to do with him, this lost true love that won’t go away. Right now, he remains secretly hidden, even from me. I’ve given up trying to exile him. I’ve accepted that he will always be in my heart. I have no romantic fantasies, no grand dreams of reunion. At least, that’s true in my head. But I can’t seem to control my heart.

This is the raw secret of my soul. I am unwilling to post this with my name. But I have a recurring suspicion that others harbor secrets like this, women and men both. Maybe your secret isn’t about your true love lost, but I’ll bet you have one or two. If you’re brave today, tell us your secret. Comment anonymously if you prefer. I believe that in sharing our deepest hearts, we find true community. There is no judgment here. Only an invitation to honest self reflection and daring sharing.