|Picture courtesy of me.|
A few years ago, I had a thing for a guy. (There's always a guy.) We met online and interacted only in that way. We shared many similar tastes in music, which was a major turn-on for me, and I crushed on him pretty badly. Naturally, all the difficulties of digging someone long-distance only whet my appetite, addicting me to every chat room meet-up, and turning on my inner Emo of Longing for Love. You know how it is. I’m sure you remember from when you indulged your own romantic angst, back when you were, like, a teenager, and whatnot. Most likely, you eschewed that sorta nonsense a looooong time ago. Me, I like to stick with what I know.
My RL (“real life”) friends who knew about this situation encouraged me to declare myself. I resisted, for quite some time. But after nearly a year of wondering (does he/does he not dig me as well?), I reconsidered. Part of me thought that if he felt anything romantic for me, he’d have clearly told me so. The response to that argument, invariably, was that the fella must be shy. Frankly, I think that’s bullshit—in my experience, no matter a dude’s general reticence, he will pursue a person of interest.
I figured, maybe my friends were right and at least, either way, I’d know how he felt about things. Right?
So I made him a mix-CD. (Yeah, I know.) Every tune on it was carefully selected to convey my feelings for him. (Yeah, I know.) I think I made a CD liner for it that had a big red heart, with flames surrounding it. (For the love of God, already, I KNOW; quit rolling your eyes at me, sheesh!). And in case that wasn’t obvious enough, I wrote him that poem.
(I’ll wait while you go hurl into the receptacle nearest you.)
(Feel better now?)
(No? Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn ya.)
In the midst of packing for/unpacking from my recent move, I found the notebook in which I’d written the damned thing!!! You’d think it would have the decency to stay hidden, but no.
You may be wondering what the guy in question made of the poem. So am I. He never said. I went as far as e-mailing to ask for some response, any response. I even told him I’d understand if he didn’t see me that way, I just needed an answer. I got bupkis. Which is ironic, really, as the whole point of “putting myself out there” was to obtain some sort of resolution, wasn’t it? But I’ve lived without “closure,” (or him) ever since.
Some folks thought I should be proud of myself for taking such a big risk and making myself vulnerable. Big-frigging-whoop. I’ve got courage coming out my wazoo (divorced single mom here, folks); so what? I knew that about myself, already, I didn’t need to suffer (another) heartbreak to prove it.
What did I take away from this experience?
1. I should always, always, always trust my initial instincts. About everything.
2. Though they definitely mean well, the people who really care about you don’t always know what's best for you.
3. If I ever welcome another into my heart, he has to be at least as brave as I am.
I’m not counting too much on number three, though. Not that I’m bitter, or anything. Ahem.
So there you have it, peeps—the story behind “My Last Love Letter.” Will it really be my last? Time will tell…