The end of another year is upon us, and the 16th anniversary of Annie’s death is only three months away.

I miss her every day, and my grief shows no sign of waning. Many days it is overwhelming and I stumble through the days unfocused and lacking the motivation to go on. No one understands, and even though I sometimes try and confide in another human, I can just tell that they not only don’t get it, they don’t get me at all.

When you fall for someone like I fell for Annie, there is no recovery once that is lost. Losing that loving person, whose touch was electrifying, and the bond we shared, that cannot be recreated with another is soul crushing. Not that I haven’t tried to meet someone who might share some of the same experiences or feelings. It has been to no avail.

The more I try and ascertain what has happened over the intervening years, the more I have come to the realization that I am drawn to a specific type of person. When I meet someone new, I tread very softly and refuse to reveal much about myself until I can feel some level of comfort with that person. Does their life experience in any way relate to my time with Annie? Could they ever understand where I am coming from? Would they even care?

The majority of people I meet disappoint on so many levels. Why are so many people consumed with material things, and not trying to establish a dialogue or friendship with someone who can be empathetic and open to life experiences that may be different from those of the past?

In the end, the few people I have met that have made an emotional and mental connection with me have turned out to be just like Annie. Those few individuals have been both transgender and persons of color. I cannot explain why. I can only recognize the connection and comfort I feel in their presence, often because they are willing to share their experiences with me as I share mine.

The problem is, that for me, it is too late to meet someone new and forge one of those amazing relationships. I am just too old, and those few people I have met and connected with are far younger than I.

So as yet another year draws to a close, I live with my memories of Annie. Meeting another person like Annie, and being able to forge another friendship, and even a possible relationship remains just wishful thinking. These are lost years with more lost years to come. If I was a younger guy, there might be some hope, but alas, I am not. I am hopeful, and yet realistic in the fact that it won’t happen. I will never feel the love and touch of another person like Annie. I might yet be proven wrong, but hold no expectations. I believe I am destined to walk alone with my memories of Annie, a transgender woman of color who changed my life forever.

I believe I have finally reached the point of giving up…