When they, the screenwriters, the authors, the people who document my life, when these people write about me, when they portray me as a character & when I just a protagonist … when my thoughts, my emotions, my character and being… when ‘I’ am written about, when my life is put on a piece of parchment to be read by someone… I’ll be seen as the man who didn’t see it coming. I will be romanticized, my life will look perfect until it stops being so and the cracks emerge. I will be seen as naïve and doomed from the start. My story will be a warning for young men everywhere, a reality check.
In the story, friends will say, don’t be like him, don’t lose it so easily, don’t be foolish, learn from his mistakes. Friends will give advice that is sound and it will seem like I was the one who was blinded and didn’t pay attention. I was the one who could not think clearly and who was so desperate just live my story that my friends words would just fall on deaf ears. In the story, I might be the cliché, I most likely will end up wasted after, broken in the cold rain. Rain, that is always seen as the a complement to sorrow. It has earned the reputation of having the property of washing away pain and suffering. It merely camouflages it… they never tell you that.
But all this… this is expectation and reality is different. Reality isn’t ink on paper, it is permanent. It is like fire on skin.
Reality is… I knew.
I knew from the time I first laid eyes on her that she was out of my league. I knew it and it didn’t have to matter. I accepted that our talks and the time we were spending was maybe just a friendship, I accepted that her affection was just that, affection and nothing more. I wouldn’t need friends in life to tell me I was dreaming, I would not need a sorry story because I had created one in my head. I had become the friend of my own choosing. I didn’t need a cautionary tale… I accepted I was walking into one.
A time came at last when I had to face up to it. When I had to let go… and this was easy… because it had all been planned from the start. I had known the story would end this way. I had already started writing my epilogue even before… well, I had lost her at hello.
I had started life without her when she was here… And I didn’t need rain, I didn’t need rain because when you live life believing it was fate… you don’t need a cue to be sad, you don’t need to hear music on the street when you are walking home, alone. You don’t even need it to be cold to feel your heart shiver and your fingers numb in pain. You don’t need these things because you’ve felt this for so long, you can’t remember what anything else feels like.
In the end, what you need most is confirmation. You confirm that it ends the way you had planned it and you are satisfied. One more chapter concludes like it should… you await the next heartbreak. You say, hello.