A(n overdue) contemporary message in a bottle
If you’d written a letter to Santa describing the man of your dreams, down to the last detail, this is exactly what he’d have brought.
You fell for him from the off. The moment you locked eyes you were smitten. The crush rapidly developed into love. And all this love did was grow.
You felt that you knew him since forever. You felt that you loved him before you even met him. He was clearly the missing piece. You felt grateful for the failure of your past romances. All of a sudden everything made sense. Everything was masterfully orchestrated to lead to this exact moment. Together you were meant to set the universe on fire.
You could write a 100.000 words essay on how much you loved him. How whenever he entered the picture the background noise disintegrated. How he made everyone else disappear. How his mere presence eliminated fear. How you always felt at home with him around.
Despite your love for luxury, you’ d gladly live in a tent with him for the rest of time. You wanted to hug him hard enough to squeeze the sadness out of him. You saw him for the innocent little boy he once was.
You loved him unconditionally. You loved everything about him. Even the bits of him that you detested. You loved him exactly the way he was. You’d change nothing.
But it was a confusing route. At times you were wondering if you were punching above your weight. At other times the exact opposite.
Every now and then you got tired of loving him and decided to reinstate yourself in the free market. You’d go out with other guys but to no avail. Nobody measured up to him. Simply by existing, he was erasing everyone.
You were gagging to tell him how much you loved him but the thought of sharing your feelings was frightening. Every time an opportunity arose you’d let it slide. You faked coolness. This led to a tsunami of faux pas. Your route was paved with half-arsed, face-saving attempts.
The story was not so easy to navigate. At times it seemed like a non-event. Other times it seemed like everything. In truth you still have no idea what it was. It probably just happened inside your mind.
The edited highlights of your affair tell a touching story. But the uncut version is pathetic. It was a roll of undelivered promises. Every now and then you thought things would change but they never did; only to become even more hideous. At some point you realized the delusion required to keep on believing was too monumental to sustain.
You decided to let go.
But you didn’t realize, whenever you went, he would travel along with you, inside your fuckin’ mind. The romance still had legs, ones that you couldn’t control.
From far away, you resolved to loving him in the abstract.
Eventually he did surface. He did say the right things. He did go the end of the world for you. It seemed like the stuff of dreams. He finally came through. But before he did, he committed one final, insignificant act of betrayal.
Ironically, it was this last drop that made his cup run over. In sync with the tune of your story, in the nick of time, at the end of the world, your love for him evaporated.
As an act of courtesy, you neglected to tell him he is a loser.
Speak Out: Ok, this is not exactly a message and it most certainly isn’t in a bottle. But it is the account of a Yarn and it is out in the blogosphere, which makes it a modern-day equivalent of a message in a bottle. Or something.