I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the girl whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible; her brown eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.
Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one so that when we finally meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful for that gift.