“Whoever it is you fall in love with for the first time, not just love but be in love with, is the one who will always make you angry, the one you can’t be logical about.” — Jeanette Winterson
You one minute and thirty-two second video that i watched the other night while my eyes were battling peeping through the heavy boots of my eyelids. But i saw you, you and your well put together packaged ways jolted me straight off the couch, plopping me on my knee caps, begging to watch you over and over again until the repetition of the syntax was imprinted into the fine lines of my brain. I haven’t felt this…this…chaotically distressed over a piece of film since i forced myself to watch Marley and Me and became buried under a pile of torn apart soggy tissues.
I reveal to believe that all of this is real. That Larry Page stapled flyers onto the ridges of tree trunks, got lost eavesdropping over the conversations of lonely souls at local coffee shops, placed ads in the classified sections of fingered through newspapers calling out for some broken-hearted-star-crossed lover straight up slugging fool to come forward. To desperately put together a campaign to shout out loud, through delicately cut copy and hyperlinks, that he is sorry and that he is still in love. All at the same time, all at once.
But while my moral compass leads me that this can’t be true, because the only people slapping down flyers on public property are those Occupy Wall Street-ers and the ads placed in the classified section get left behind, most days, to be doormats for passer-bys on the streets who let the pages slip out of there sticky fingers, i protest that there just has to be more to this.
Maybe Google drafted a skeleton, kept things black and white leaving holes for the guy in cubicle 12 whose lips sag around the edges of his coffee cup, these days, over a premature love he lost because he just couldn’t step forward when things were falling apart and just say, “STOP! Lets get through this” instead of letting the pain pluck the strings of his untunned heart strings. Maybe he was the one who stepped up to the plate to fill in the gaps with heartbreaking moments regurgitated into a one minute thirty-two second video , a montage that has been decoupaged over and over in his mind, running Elmer’s glue along the jagged seams to try to hold every.thing.to.get.her.
That’s all i wanted you to do for me video, was to hold me together, as i steadfastly fell apart over the reality that the world can be oh so cruel with who it allows to take advantage of second chances. Of the paper cuts we wish we just would have taken like champs instead of forgetting to press the save button and all in an instant losing the perfect mess of a document that took us months to arrange, to get out of our system. Wishing we just signed on the dotted line instead of fading away.
Enough is enough video. I will only allow myself to watch you a handful of times a day. Push my thumbs down with purpose like a wine stopper to press the rewind button and then the stop button as if i am replaying the minuscle details of a love that has been put through the shreddder and then, pieced back together again, over and over again while simultentously stuffing Twinkies into my mouth and criss-crossing my toes underneath my fuzzy socks. [subscribe2]