Wildline

I didn’t meet him a year ago tonight. I didn’t meet him two years ago either, it was four. But it wasn’t tonight. Actually, I don’t remember when I met him. I fail to remember a lot of things. I don’t remember when he became so important, either. We like about 98% of the same music. That’s 98 songs out of every 100. I wonder where those other two lie. But music taste doesn’t matter much, turns out, when you have a bad personality.

Not saying he doesn’t like me, but I actually have a cool superpower – wanna hear it? I know everything that everyone thinks and feels about me, by making it all up in my head. I don’t think he likes that too much. When I walk in the room and his eyes land on me, I get that feeling. The one where you’re in a relationship with somebody and they say something like “When I get married” as opposed to “When we get married” and you look at them and you realize that no, you won’t have this forever. But it’s not his fault or anything. I’m scared it’s my own downfall. I’m scared that when I walk in the room and his eyes land on me, he gets that feeling too. And I’m scared that it’s not so bad for him.

Anyway, I didn’t meet him a year ago tonight, but I kind of wish I did. I kind of wish he hasn’t seen me at my worst, and then five worst’s after that. I kind of wish I could be the perfect girl – not pretty or soft or calm but okay. I kind of wish my “worst” was an acceptable “worst” and I kind of wish every time I got tasked to write a short story I could make up a character. I kind of wish I could escape from this and follow a rubric but there are only rubrics for short stories – not for life. And so here’s my story: strayed as far from the rubric as anything could be. No conflict here! I’m sorry!

The only conflict you’ll find in this is the conflict in me. Seagulls without the sea are only unwanted birds, right? I’m not a seagull and I don’t have the sea but I am unwanted so does that make me a bird too?