the day the music died

I know I’ve been on the mute side lately and rather naughty in not taking pen to paper, figuratively speaking of course. I have had a lot on my mind and yet simultaneously hardly anything much to say. I haven’t been down in the dumps per se, but I suppose more a case of feeling rather uninspired and unable to articulate as I’d hope to. Maybe it’s a sudden case of dejection or maybe it’s much more reminiscent of pure laziness, but for reasons unknown I just can’t seem to attach myself to my MacBook and allow what needs to come forth, pour forth. I just don’t want to I guess. But I did say on my previous letter that I’d tell you about a dream I had that involved an old high school fling, so in an attempt to rid myself of these blues please find those details below.

The dream was innocent enough and effortless to follow along with as it contained zero complexities. It simply involved an accidental rendezvous; a tall and spirited young girl spontaneously bumping into her old high school flame out on the street. A European street I might add, because this was my dream after all and my brain refuses to plot any soiree with familiar scenery. So there we were, walking in opposing directions and with every step we took, inching us closer to the other. From the moment our eyes meet there’s a humble spark of recognition, closely followed by a slight curving of the lips. And as we draw near those lips seem to part gingerly, readying themselves to utter a titillating hello. I’m a little taken aback as he utters my name. Surprised that he’d even recall me since many years had passed us both and I no longer resembled the same girl he once knew. There’s also something charming about the way he delivers my name that has me internally shivering with pleasure. But I ruin the moment by attempting to play cool and coy by “forgetting” his name. Trying to be “cute” as I loudly and unashamedly pretend to recollect his face and name from when and where. And all in a vain attempt to conceal the way my insides are leaping and gyrating with intensified glee.

Image via Pinterest

It begins with the usual pleasantries that call for short and sweet answers but too soon they depart and the elaborate questions proceed. All starting with those seemingly innocent few words that seem to plague discussions everywhere.

“What are you doing with yourself?”

And I confidently announce that I was a writer slash blogger. Then the dream slowly fades from there but not before the camera pans to a short close-up of facial expressions. His with speechless awe and mine shamelessly glorious. It was an expression laced with smug and utter proudness. As if I’d accomplished something so truly illustrious. And I wasn’t at all bothered that not everyone would understand my feelings of imposing self-nobility and I certainly didn’t even care if they took at as arrogance either. It’s such a foreign look to me, one I don’t think I’ve ever truly had the pleasure of experiencing. Perhaps just yet anyway. So you can understand why I couldn’t seem to shake that vision away and I guess I brazenly didn’t want to either. Not only for that internal thrill of possibly rekindling an old romance but in the way I uttered those words. Words with such conviction at that.

I was indeed a writer and that just felt so magnificent.

So I dwelled upon such a chance meeting, replaying it over and over and over. Reliving those sweet emotions and those imaginary butterflies fluttering about in my stomach time and time again. Not feeling a need to elaborate upon the dialogue and scene because it was sheer perfection for me. But then I have to go ahead and spoil it, as I always seem to do, and I begin over analysing. I make the unfortunate mistake of trying to imagine such an encounter in reality. And soon enough I come to the frightful conclusion that in actually bumping into him today, what are the actual chances of him being single? And aside from the obvious and troubling fact that I may not, subconsciously anyway, take myself seriously as a writer all I could seem to focus upon was the horror that he may have found the one already.

I mean I am now in an age bracket were my peers have not only walked down the aisle but are now also starting families of their own, so who is to say that such an encounter today wouldn’t involve a significant other on his part? Or a child or two for that matter? He could very well be happily married. Hell they all could be! And there lies my problem and perhaps the reason for my stagnancy of late. Have I reached that age were all the good men are gone? And all that is left are the undesirable few whom plan on living the life as a bachelor. Is this yet another train I’ll miss, another stage of life unattainable for me? Being single forever? Now destined to grow old and grey with her loyal canines, but alone in her home. And to one day sadly pass away quietly late into the night and not have a soul notice her rotting carcass for weeks, months or God forbid years even.

Is this what truly lies in store for me now?



4 thoughts on “the day the music died

  1. Oh my gosh girl you wrote how I feel… wow. My fear, my sadness… Am I destined to be alone too?? This makes me so sad… I would be amazing for someone special who deserved me.:'(

    Sadly no one wants me either… your words spoke to me immediately…:-(

      1. You both are wonderful and not the only ones out there! I’m so sure there are a couple of awesome guys wondering the same thing right now…

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