It was kind of like the perfect timing. I had just gotten out of my first real relationship and after mending my heart with spring break in Acapulco, and exactly two intense fights that are typical of an erratic college girl and her older boyfriend, I was on a newly-single girl’s high.
Not to mention, it was the middle of February in eternally-grey Michigan, and I had an awesome tan.
We met in that easy way a college campus setting provides and instantly felt attraction. He showed me quality music: Folk before Mumford and Sons became cool. I would brag to my friends about the new songs he was showing me, although I didn’t really take a liking to any of them. I didn’t fully appreciate his music taste, but I do now.
He’s the one you met briefly. It had to be brief for you feel so deeply connected to this person, if you had known him for longer, you wouldn’t have let him get away. You try to figure out when exactly, what moment in time those doors closed for good, making you feel like you could never open them again?
He was profoundly interesting and daringly adventurous. He was the only person I have ever thought to be genuinely, intuitively smart and he had this way of making me feel exactly the way I wanted to feel. He was hairy and much older (obviously). The biggest age difference I’ve ever (knowingly…) indulged in.
There’s something else I have to note: I started reading missed connections, and I don’t think it’s helping this fantasy. Maybe I fetishize the one who got away a little too much. When you feel like you’ve gone through all the romantic partners you were meant to, you realize there was always one you checked up on.
Because of Facebook, we don’t really ever “get away.” This person is so far off in the true sense of the word, and yet, so close as to be right in your face on your monitor. You paint a picture of his life and who he is, based on tidbits of information you’re fortunate enough to pick up every now and then.
It’s fun to be in the romantic world you’ve created. It’s perfect because you’ve colored it with who you think this person is, yet you're still not quite sure.
And there’s the one fantasy you always have, where you connect after all these years and see each other. It takes place in thousands of settings: Rome, Philly, wherever you happen to be yearning to go or are present in the moment. Regardless of where you set your characters, the message is always the same: You have another shot and you aren't alone in your thinking. That cosmic connection you dreamed of is there.
Like those indie songs he loved to play, my one who got away was different, and I get so scared he’ll go mainstream.
He told stories that filled me with awe and left me always thinking. Many foggy years later, I still remember the details of the Che Guevara soccer field where he played with young Argentine boys, the tantalizing taste of the red tree ants he sampled in Cambodia. His understanding of the world was fascinating. I wanted to know everything he knew.
There are times when you wonder if he really is that person, or if it’s just simpler to fall back on the idea of him. You entertain the possibility that he’s still available (could anyone that perfect still be?), still ridiculously mesmerizing and above all, still remembers you in the same way you remember him.
Then there’s the wild, lottery-winning kind of small chance that for all those times you wondered if you were ever going to see him again, for all those micro attempts at getting his attention (cough, those posts on Elite Daily), it ends up being worth it.
Call me desperate. Call me pathetic. Call me a sad, lonely girl, or whatever your adjective of choice. I call myself daring, bold and passionate, which is exactly the kind of person he inspired me to be.