I met a man in 1969. He was an Air Force Officer. We continued our love affair for forty years. He is married and so was I. I was a motel receptionist when I met him in 1969 and this was regarded as "our song". By 2010 I had A Bachelor's Degree and a Diploma of Teaching in Greek. I went on to do a Master's degree in Greek, although I have no Greek background. Although I had no contact with him for ten years, just a week ago I sensed there was something wrong with my lover. I called him and he told me that he was waiting for the results of a test for cancer of the prostate. I had not spoken to him for ten years. Work that one out. We talked for 2 and a half hours, and not for the first time I felt that no time had passed since our first meeting in 1969. The song is still "our song" but he 'phoned me on the day he received his results and he is dying. I love him so much. How was I to know in 1969 that I would learn Greek? It was by no means deliberate. Marie Claire had somehow fulfilled that prophecy. My last words to him a week ago were "go and forget me forever, but know that I still bear the scars, deep inside". "Go in Peace, my love".