wear. Sigh. I should be devastated, but it’s such a relief to not have to worry about her taking my stuff anymore that I’ve forgotten to grieve.)
Is it just me or did all the fun go out of the Niles-and-Daphne relationship once they actually got together? I mean, the great thing about them was the hope that maybe one day they would get together, that Niles would finally confess his feelings for her. You wanted him to get her, and you felt sorry for the poor lovesick puppy. The excitement is in the “maybe”. Once they actually became a couple? Blah. All the hope was gone.
Unrequited love is much more interesting. Even in real life. The possibility of something happening is what keeps you going.
Like me and Ronan. This was – oh, ages ago. First or Second Year, I suppose. He was a friend of Hannah’s and I fell madly in love with him. Every spare moment of my time was devoted to dreaming about how we would profess our undying love for one another. Then Hannah said that she thought he liked me.
I should have been happy, delirious, over the moon. And I was – for about a day. It was wonderful being admired. It was a nice change. But the novelty wears off quickly, and you realise that the excitement has gone.
I stopped liking him. Then he stopped liking me, at which point I started liking him again. And so on. It went on for about three months, and the funny part is that nothing ever came of it. I never even kissed him.
In a way, the daydreams are more fun. Reality just can’t compete.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He writes a song for me, and sings it for me at the band’s first public performance, gazing into my eyes intently. I stare up at him, loving him so much that it hurts.
Or maybe we’re not together yet, and he sings it. I am in the audience, thinking, “Wow, what a great song” when he accidentally catches my eye, and looks embarrassed. It hits me – the song’s about me. I look up at him, and he is both hopeful and scared. I smile, and he grins, throwing himself into the music.
Or maybe one of the other guys in the band starts to fancy me, and he thinks I’m interested, and gets jealous. One night he confronts me, somewhat awkwardly.
“I don’t know what you’re doing with him,” he says.
“Why?” I ask, somewhat coquettishly. (I’m not at all sure if I can be coquettish, but it’s a fantasy, so we’re allowed take some liberties.)
“He just doesn’t seem like your type.”
“Really? So what is my ‘type’, then?”
“Someone – I don’t know. Someone who appreciates you.”
I look at him. It’s one of those perceptive looks that Sarah’s so good at.
He looks slightly embarrassed, but doesn’t blush. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You know . . . I really think you’d be better off without him.”
“Why do you even care?” I ask, exasperated at this stage.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he says, joining me in The Land of Frustration. “Why do you think I care, Abi?”
And then . . . he looks at me, and I look at him, and we kiss, and it’s wonderful.
Or maybe I’m really drunk at the party, and can’t even stand, and he has to carry me upstairs to Sarah’s room. I’m practically unconscious at this stage, so he watches me for a little while, and pushes strands of hair away from my face, his tender fingers lovingly running over my skin. (Fun to imagine; but if it actually happened the intimacy would be lost on me.)
Or maybe we’re alone in a room and we just talk. One of those wonderfully deep discussions where you realise how much you have in common. And he makes me laugh. And then I make him laugh. It’s perfect.
Or maybe we’re watching a movie and it’s really emotional and he brushes a tear away from his eye. I look at him.
“What?” he says defensively.
“You’re crying,” I note in amusement.
He does the whole macho-man thing, denying all allegations of tears, before I tell him that I love sensitive guys.
“Especially cute
Is it just me or did all the fun go out of the Niles-and-Daphne relationship once they actually got together? I mean, the great thing about them was the hope that maybe one day they would get together, that Niles would finally confess his feelings for her. You wanted him to get her, and you felt sorry for the poor lovesick puppy. The excitement is in the “maybe”. Once they actually became a couple? Blah. All the hope was gone.
Unrequited love is much more interesting. Even in real life. The possibility of something happening is what keeps you going.
Like me and Ronan. This was – oh, ages ago. First or Second Year, I suppose. He was a friend of Hannah’s and I fell madly in love with him. Every spare moment of my time was devoted to dreaming about how we would profess our undying love for one another. Then Hannah said that she thought he liked me.
I should have been happy, delirious, over the moon. And I was – for about a day. It was wonderful being admired. It was a nice change. But the novelty wears off quickly, and you realise that the excitement has gone.
I stopped liking him. Then he stopped liking me, at which point I started liking him again. And so on. It went on for about three months, and the funny part is that nothing ever came of it. I never even kissed him.
In a way, the daydreams are more fun. Reality just can’t compete.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He writes a song for me, and sings it for me at the band’s first public performance, gazing into my eyes intently. I stare up at him, loving him so much that it hurts.
Or maybe we’re not together yet, and he sings it. I am in the audience, thinking, “Wow, what a great song” when he accidentally catches my eye, and looks embarrassed. It hits me – the song’s about me. I look up at him, and he is both hopeful and scared. I smile, and he grins, throwing himself into the music.
Or maybe one of the other guys in the band starts to fancy me, and he thinks I’m interested, and gets jealous. One night he confronts me, somewhat awkwardly.
“I don’t know what you’re doing with him,” he says.
“Why?” I ask, somewhat coquettishly. (I’m not at all sure if I can be coquettish, but it’s a fantasy, so we’re allowed take some liberties.)
“He just doesn’t seem like your type.”
“Really? So what is my ‘type’, then?”
“Someone – I don’t know. Someone who appreciates you.”
I look at him. It’s one of those perceptive looks that Sarah’s so good at.
He looks slightly embarrassed, but doesn’t blush. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You know . . . I really think you’d be better off without him.”
“Why do you even care?” I ask, exasperated at this stage.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he says, joining me in The Land of Frustration. “Why do you think I care, Abi?”
And then . . . he looks at me, and I look at him, and we kiss, and it’s wonderful.
Or maybe I’m really drunk at the party, and can’t even stand, and he has to carry me upstairs to Sarah’s room. I’m practically unconscious at this stage, so he watches me for a little while, and pushes strands of hair away from my face, his tender fingers lovingly running over my skin. (Fun to imagine; but if it actually happened the intimacy would be lost on me.)
Or maybe we’re alone in a room and we just talk. One of those wonderfully deep discussions where you realise how much you have in common. And he makes me laugh. And then I make him laugh. It’s perfect.
Or maybe we’re watching a movie and it’s really emotional and he brushes a tear away from his eye. I look at him.
“What?” he says defensively.
“You’re crying,” I note in amusement.
He does the whole macho-man thing, denying all allegations of tears, before I tell him that I love sensitive guys.
“Especially cute
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