I did love her. I loved her a great deal but our cultural differences were so vast. There was a deep sea separating us. We tried to bridge the chasm. We tried to let our love create a place of beauty and joy. But my people and her people were against us.
She really was quite peculiar. And it wasn’t just her. It was all her people. Firstly, the upper half of her body was usually unclothed. All the females in my culture covered their bodies – head to toe – in fur. Her lack of modesty was astonishing. And there was her hair. Long, flowing red hair. Did I mention that females where I come from keep their head covered in fur? And there was her singing and talking. Endless. In my culture we occasionally shout out in hunger or at the start of a hunt. We never talk and we certainly don’t sing. And we lived in different environments. Hers was a continual wet one and mine was dry and filled with ice. But what separated us the most was her lower fish half. Half of her was a tasty morsel. If I didn’t eat her then someone in my community would.
“Goodbye mermaid dear,” I roared. “We can never be.”
“Goodbye polar bear dear,” she said. “I love you.”
And off she swam to fall in love with a merman. I cried and the cold wind froze my tears. Sometimes that differences between lovers are so great that not even love can bind them.