Two years ago, my girl friend went missing. She'd gone walking one day and never come back. We still don't have any idea what happened to her, why she didn't come back. All we know is two years on she's still not back.

We don't even know whether or not she's still alive. The police never managed to find even a trace of her, no signs of struggle down along the path she usually walked by, no scraps of clothes, nothing. It's almost like she never existed at all, that's how completely she disappeared. All I have left of her are some photos and clothes.

Two years on I haven't given up looking though. Every day i'll drive around the town, looking for any sight of her long brown hair, or the familiar shape of her body. But every day I get the same results. Every day I find nothing. But I won't give up. I won't rest until i've found her, or I've at least gotten some hint on her welfare. I never thought i'd say this, but even a ransom note would be a good sign. At least then I'd know she's still alive. But until that happens, I'm going to keep looking. Because one day I will find her, one day we'll be together again.

I'm writing this down as I sit out the front of one of our favourite cafes. We used to come here together and just sit and talk, eat a slice of the cake of the day and drink coffee. Maybe I'll find her today. Maybe she'll come back to this spot and do what I'm doing. Maybe she just wanted some time alone, and that's why she left. She could have gone on a long holiday, and even now be sitting somewhere and writing about what she did. She used to love to do that, write down every tiny detail of what we did when we went on holidays. I never really understood why, but then I was never much of a writer. She used to win awards for some of her stories and essays.

All of a sudden I've gotten this feeling like I'm being watched. Like someone is staring at me, wondering what it is I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I suppose it must be a bit of a shock to see me sitting outside a cafe and writing. Especially if its someone I know. Because like I said, I've never been much of a writer. I suppose They'll give up eventually, and walk away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I manage to see them standing there, looking like they've almost been paralysed from shock. Me writing can't possibly be that amazing. I suppose I should see what they want. Find out why they're so enraptured by me.

So, as I turn around, I realise it is someone I know. It's someone I know very well. She came back. She finally came back. As I gaze on her beautiful face for the first time in years, for the first time in what seems like a millennia, a smile starts to creep across her face, and tears start to pour down my face, making tracks across my cheeks. Reaching forwards, she wipes away my tears, and in a voice choked with emotion tells me that she's back. I try to speak but I can't. I try to force out words, things that I've wanted to say to her for two years, but they won't come. I can't possibly even begin to explain how I've felt, what I've been going through, these last two years. I can't begin to tell her how much I realised she means to me, how much it tore me apart when she didn't come home. How relieved I am to see her face again.

Jumping up I grab her and pull her into a hug, sobbing down into her hair as her tears start to soak into my shirt, telling her I never want to be apart from her again, that I never want her to leave me behind. I suppose it's true what they say, every cloud does have a sliver lining. When your separated from someone or something, you realise just how much they mean to you, and then when they come back, you realise that life without them pales in comparison to life with them.