“There are a few moments in your life when you are truly and completely happy, and you remember to give thanks. Even as it happens you are nostalgic for the moment, you are tucking it away in your scrapbook.”
― David Benioff, When the Nines Roll Over and Other Stories
I find it amusing how easily we let somebody take over our heart, how decoratively we present it with a special arrangement on a plate to another. The first love game. It happens so quickly and effortlessly - you rarely even get a chance to glimpse at that moment back. One moment you are happily invested in your own thing, the other - nothing makes sense without them. Not knowing any better. Usually we get lost in the worst cases: falling for the guy who just isn’t any good for you; waiting for somebody to notice all your glory and impeccable presence; looking at that girl who absolutely never looks at you back. We dream of our happily-ever-afters.
And what about the ones who get away? The ones who enter your world as effortlessly, after the first splash of disappointment almost kicked all of the air out of your lungs - the ones who stay long enough to set your world on fire, to refill your long forgotten dreams with hope, to make you think for once that love on it’s own isn’t such a bad thing? What about them? Do they count the same or more? Are they the ones worth mentioning in your story?
Or is it the ones who stay? Long after the dreams were doomed unreasonable and after the flame off the freshly mowed love has evaporated, leaving a sweet sent of a memory and nothing more. Is this the end game that awaits us? The quiet in the night and the warmth of somebody next to you, making you feel less alone in this enormously unjust rotten world.
When you think about it - is it fair? That every time you reach for something new - there is this enormous baggage, you are so desperately trying to hide? All the failures and mismatches, the disappointments over another…and another and another. How is that fair? That of all the people - you don’t get the chance to forget. To step over. To simply stop restoring your memories.
And how are you just supposed to ignore that you weren’t and aren’t the one? That you weren’t the first love or the one who got away? That you weren’t the person who changed them, or made them better? That maybe… if they had a chance to go back.. they’d never come back to you? And even if they had you for a while they never planned for you to stay. That all on it’s own you are quite reusable. A footnote in somebody else's love story. Just another character filling out the blanks, before the main protagonist comes back. The stand-in. Never in your story.
I spend my days at bus stations, at subway, airports and on the road..looking at the ones surrounding me and wondering how many of them are special on their own? How many of them have that unique ability that makes them THEM, without needing a second half to fulfill them? How many of them are their own protagonists, creating their own story? And will I ever be one of them?