Sunday, May 16, 2004
The Missing
And then in the cold (actually, warm) light of day, the words that were lost in the mists of sleep break the silvery surface of freshly re-awakened sentience :
"Well how about this way. I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich, I love when you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts, I love that after I've spent the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because its New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible."
- Harry Burns, When Harry met Sally
And the voices spake.
Angry voices.
What?
What are they trying to tell us? Are they saying maybe that it's... rare? That loving someone for who they are, in their entirity - even loving them for their quirks and flaws is nigh-on unachievable? Is it only the mystic stuff of legend and cellulite? Something we can only yearn for and aspire towards, that exists in potentia, yet never really quite materializes in this reality?
Is that supposed to make me (you) feel better?
Or are they trying to say that it's really common, a reflection of real-life? Maybe everybody falls in love like that, only they don't. Tell. Me.
Maybe the lovey doveys around me, maybe they're all the lucky ones who pull it off effortlessly... and maybe I could only pull it out of my magic hat once. Maybe I've run out of bunnies.
Is that supposed to make me feel better?
Voice : Will it ever happen again?
Voice : Why are you being so f-ing self-centred?
Voice : Probably had too much to drink last night.
Voice : Oh.
Voice : Watch, and wait. And learn.
"Well how about this way. I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich, I love when you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts, I love that after I've spent the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because its New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible."
- Harry Burns, When Harry met Sally
And the voices spake.
Angry voices.
What?
What are they trying to tell us? Are they saying maybe that it's... rare? That loving someone for who they are, in their entirity - even loving them for their quirks and flaws is nigh-on unachievable? Is it only the mystic stuff of legend and cellulite? Something we can only yearn for and aspire towards, that exists in potentia, yet never really quite materializes in this reality?
Is that supposed to make me (you) feel better?
Or are they trying to say that it's really common, a reflection of real-life? Maybe everybody falls in love like that, only they don't. Tell. Me.
Maybe the lovey doveys around me, maybe they're all the lucky ones who pull it off effortlessly... and maybe I could only pull it out of my magic hat once. Maybe I've run out of bunnies.
Is that supposed to make me feel better?
Voice : Will it ever happen again?
Voice : Why are you being so f-ing self-centred?
Voice : Probably had too much to drink last night.
Voice : Oh.
Voice : Watch, and wait. And learn.
