"You think everything is cliche," he’d said. And that was true. Or maybe it was just because it was him. Maybe I wouldn’t have thought that had it been someone else. It’s funny how we ascribe meaning when we want to. When it’s someone we’re head over heels about, we can forgive anything. Annoying little quirks become things we adore, and no matter how badly of an asshole they may be, we make excuses for them, we make excuses for everything. And when we’re not head over heels for them, we think everything is problematic - we say things like, he smokes too much, he drinks too much, his jeans are unattractive - things we would’ve otherwise excused.
I remember when I was too broke to afford coffee. Coffee was a splurge day. And it was cold that night. Dead of winter cold. And you’d gotten out of the car and paid for my gas. It wasn’t even much, but. I ascribed meaning to it. I took it as something. You tried to kiss me that night. And we hadn’t been there in a minute. And I wouldn’t let you. I wasn’t going to go back there because at that point, I knew you weren’t going to be just someone I was going to hook-up with. Because I knew, if it got to that point, you wouldn’t be someone I could easily get over. I dropped you off, and drove home, and called up a girl friend and cried. Over this thing. The thing was. You did the nicest thing. And it wasn’t because you were trying to get with me. Because you weren’t. And we both knew, you wouldn’t have had to show grand gestures of kindness to win me over. It was because that was who you were. You would’ve done that for anyone. And I told her then, how I loved you. In a very human kind of way. You were perfect. You were my ideal. And I was so close. Yet I was so far. It was never going to be one for the story books.
It’s weird. A guy friend mentioned you a few weeks back. “Why don’t you date that guy? What was his name? That guy, I saw you with that one time.” I was startled, thrown back into a minute in the past. How would he have picked you out, from an old distant memory? "I mean, I only saw you guys together that time, and maybe one other, but, he actually seems like your perfect guy."
Up until that moment, I’d forgotten about you. I’d thrown you back into the far corners of my memory, the way we do when we make the choice to forget about someone. When he brought you up, for a moment, I ascribed this great meaning to it. In this lightning sequence in my mind, I thought this means something. If someone else could see it. This means something. But had he for some reason, mentioned any other name, I would’ve brushed it off. As nothing more than a coincidence or mere absurdity.