Caught in a Bad Romance

You are my first love. I really didn't know what I was getting myself into. For so much time, I thought I would never find anyone. When we met, I changed colors and crooked my tail with yours to show you my true courtship intentions. You accepted me, without complaint. We danced through the ocean, throughout the night. We made love; we shared ourselves. And I opened my pouch to you, showing you that most vulnerable place, for you to lay your eggs for me to carry.

My pouch never swelled. The eggs never hatched. Where were our babies, our fry? Were they lost to the currents? My friends told me to let it go and move on. I kept saying that you were not like the others. And they told me that was exactly my problem. That you never wanted what I wanted, because you do not want what other females want. What was I to you? To think you were not serious in your intentions stung me to the core. I know I might get over you one day, but, I spent so much time doubting my own value as a male.

So many nights, I thought about my family - our family of seahorses. If we have any chance of recovering our full bloom, our full array of selves around the world's oceans, I cannot spend time with someone like you. I need someone who wants to me to carry forth our young. And I really thought about how you treated me, and what we truly shared. I thought you were just shy. And that I could understand you just with body language. Maybe I was just too desperate when we met; I just could not see things clearly. So I made a lot of assumptions. Now that we have had some time apart, I am thinking about what we actually had.

"Just because everybody says it, doesn't mean it's wrong." Something my friends said over and over again when we were together. They said you and I met because you were so bad, even humans did not want you - that you came from their sewer systems. I did not want to believe it because I thought they just did not like you. But I see things differently. Maybe you did not mean to hurt me. Or to ruin my first romance. So when I heard that the fish ate you, I must admit I was not as sad as I should have been. Yes, that was petty. And then I heard that the fish got sick afterwards. And died.

The humans say that someone like you, someone of your kind, releases a murderous ghost, made from toxic chemicals, when you die. That is so like you. Even in death, you still want the final word.