As noted, this is a piece that I don't feel like finishing. I was just looking through my old GoogleDrive folders and found it. That last edit was about half a year ago but it felt like ages.
I don't really care for criticism on this but you can if you want. I just want to put it out there. Yes, I'm aware I'm 'telling rather than showing'. It was supposed to be one giant monologue.
My first three years of university were spent idling – I did not do much in order to turn the wheel of society and benefit others as well as myself. Rather, my time was spent alone in a town where I knew nobody. I preferred solitary nights in my room perusing the hidden treasures of the World Wide Web. Although at times, my mind brought up thoughts of finding the perfect woman – a woman whose appearance and personality had already been ingrained in my head due to hours of isolated pondering and a surprisingly vivid imagination. She would always be a light-blonde haired girl with soft facial features that looked good no matter what light she was in. Outside of that, her body type would be slim but not skinny – though every time I imagined her was different. As a pessimistic college student I always knew that the girl of my dreams was nothing but a bout of wishful thinking. Knowing this I never brought my hopes up every time I caught a person of the opposite sex looking at me. I would brush it off knowing that the gods of coincidence were on their break and needed something to do.
But where did such defeatist thinking arrive from? It would be a mystery to anyone outside of myself.
I would like to point out as early as possible that I was not a terrible looking man during college. I was born with eyes as large as the moon itself and calling me a cute baby could very well be an understatement. As I grew older and larger my face stayed the same. But it is in that youth, that almost inseparable part of every human in which my negativity took flight.
The first and only time I had fallen in love was when I was in elementary school. At least I think it was love. I was quite young and all the misconceptions and truths about love came from my parents’ quite stable marriage and the television shows they watched. Because of that I always assumed that in order to take any step further into a relationship with a girl I would need to be as dramatic as possible to solidify the red strings of fate that connected every person in the world.
Her name was Caroline. In class she was the person who talked to me the most because she would always insist on sitting beside me. I didn’t know much about the type of family she came from but I was enthralled that I, at the very least, had someone to play with. She lived quite close to me and almost every day I would walk her to her place and wait on the sidewalk until she got into her house. Sometimes she would forget her keys and on those days she would come over and we would play video games or Legos. It was also on those days that my lovely mother, bless her soul, noticed I was happiest. It was not like I was a depressed child. No – rather, I was merely quiet and the introduction of Caroline in my life made me smile more than usual.
One day when Caroline forgot her key my mother pointed out a peculiarity. As Caroline left, my mother pulled me aside and pointed at her backpack. On the top zipper was attached a small yet extremely noteworthy key. It was light blue in colour and as a testament to Caroline’s playful disposition had two googly-eyes pasted on it. If I recall correctly she named it Mr. Key. As a young and naïve youth of the first world that meant nothing to me. But my mother, who with much motherly intuition, concocted the theory that Caroline never actually forgot her keys. It took some convincing from my mother to make me believe that Caroline was more than interested in me. She told me years later that it was too funny to not interfere with. Ah, young love.
With my mother’s serendipitous realization I knew it was time for me to make the large step in our relationship. A day after my mother told me about the keys I picked a bouquet of flowers around my neighbourhood to bring to school. Once in class I brought them out – flowers of all colours wrapped in paper towel that my mother lovingly gave to me – and immediately professed my love to Caroline. Elation spread throughout my body when she accepted my confession although from then on out I never really understood exactly what our relationship was. But, I was happy.
Our forbidden-yet-known, youthful-almost-romance lasted the whole school year. On the last day of classes I was given one of my most fond and treasured memories. Caroline held my hand and then kissed me on the cheek. I’m ashamed to admit it but it took quite a while for me to realize that it wasn’t a dream.
That summer Caroline spent away from our small town. With the following fall season came the new school year and still, Caroline was away from our small town. At that point in my life, I had not known yet how to be a cynic; how to be hyperaware of the moving world and society. I was still an optimist. For two months I waited every day for Caroline thinking – even knowing that she would come back. I would wait for her to sit beside me in class so that we could talk and play and I could give her the flowers that I picked for her almost every day. Eventually my mind snapped back into reality and I could almost taste the red string of fate that connected Caroline and me withering in the wind along with every other broken heart.
From then on I was not one to join in with others through my own volition. I had become a wall of ice not letting anyone near me. I admit, it was an immature act from an immature person. I wish that I could be able to tell myself to stop being a coward; that for everyone the red string of fate will be broken at one point or the other and that it is just an expected occurrence. But rationality was not something my brain could handle. I felt that way – cold and divided – for years. It was only until my last year of university that I thought maybe, just maybe, I could have been wrong to act that way.
How does one do such a one-eighty in such a short time? What is it that I did to stop my inherent introvert qualities from taking over my physical movements? Coincidence, perhaps. Fate – an even better sort of reasoning.
On a day like any other I was in bed with the blinds pulled up so I could stare at the sun. The tingling sensation of a sunshine overdose in my optical receptors was always something I liked to feel which many probably thought odd and uncomfortable. It was a Saturday in November and I was not doing anything. I had not known yet but that red string of fate was alive and well attached to my foot to someone I would meet that day.