He never got around to writing about me. Or for me. None of them ever did.
I have this weird fantasy. This man falls hopelessly in love with me. He writes a story about me; or makes me the subject of his poetry; or writes me a song.
Probably it’s not that weird. All girls have this, well, “expectation” inside their heads that some guy would fall head over heels in love with them and do crazy stuff for them.
I think it’s an ego thing. Not I think. It is an ego thing. Just imagine what it would do to ones ego if one was immortalised in a song.
I would give a hand and a foot to be Alice. Or Lucy. Even Sheila goddamit! Those lucky b*tches.
But yeah. I have never been written about in a story or a song or a poem.
Oh wait a minute! There was this one guy who did write a really nice story about me – about how when I was born, I was this cute little angelic baby, and how I was the favourite of the gods and how, when they saw that I was lonely, they sent a match for me – him basically. He was two years younger to me. One year and 4 months to be precise.
It gave me quite a kick. But then I tore those letters and burnt them. So I don’t have them with me anymore.
This was written in the old fashioned way – with ink on paper – and posted to me, all sealed, stamped and scented, inside a red envelope.
Ah the romance of it...
But yeah, like I mentioned, I burnt those letters for obvious reasons.
Sometimes life does give us exactly what we want. But we don’t treasure them. Maybe because they are given to us at the wrong time, when we are not really ready.
Life is a mismatch. All the wrong pieces at the wrong places. Like a jigsaw puzzle done all wrong.
But maybe someday I’ll be able to sort it out; I’ll be able to sit quietly in a corner and rearrange the pieces in perfect order. And maybe I’ll also have someone singing to me while I am doing that.
I would love to give up at this point; to think that nothing good is ever gonna happen and that I should give up all hope and stop trying; that this is all useless.
But then, that would be the easy way out.