Sometimes when I’m sitting by myself I think about all the crazy possibilities out there concerning you and I. After I read Pride and Prejudice I imagined you standing in the rain telling me you loved me. I imagined you holding me still explaining to me that I am yours and you are mine. We would kiss and you would realize we are one and the same, cut from the same cloth only to be sewn together once more.
When I saw the notebook I envisioned you flying out to my college bar where I would see you in the crowd and we would walk towards one another as if gravity itself shortened the distance. I would be drunk and angry and you would be passionate and strong. I would scream, punch, kick, and yell at you. How dare you leave me out to dry and then when I am finally whole, come to collect your prize? We would make a scene. Passionate lovers we would be and just as hard as I fought to get away from you, you would fight to make me believe in you. And I would. My pride would melt away, my rough veneer would melt and I would realize that you are just a boy who loves me and I am just a girl who loves you. You and I are made for one another and we are passionate and perfect, delicate and enthused.
And sometimes. When I really hate you. When I think of the 7 years that you dangled me by a string, I imagine that you are a child incapable of loving, incapable of looking beyond your own petty plights. When these thoughts enter my head, all I can think of doing is slapping you. Hard. And telling you, “Watch the best thing that ever happened to you walk away.” And I’ll walk away in my most seductive ways to show you just what you’re missing.
But When I think of Eleanor Roosevelt professing the need for strong women, I remember that I too am one. And you are nothing that I need, nothing that I hope for and most importantly no one of relevance. You are my fleeting past and can hurt me no more and will hurt me no more. So I forget about you like I do all insignificant moments. But you will never forget me. One day in a coffee shop far from our home town you will hear the barista call my not too familiar name. You’ll look around until you finally spot me. In your head you will realize that you have just stumbled upon a most serendipitous moment and you will come up to that girl you once knew and breathlessly whisper, “Hi.”
And with a great warm smile I will say “Why, Hello.” And later that night I’ll go to bed with a smile on my face as I tell my perfect husband, “The weirdest thing happened to me at Starbucks. This weird guy couldn’t take his eyes off me and creepily said ‘hello’ to me, isn’t that strange?”
And it will never matter.