Somedays

The Perfect Date

Somedays are harder than others.

When I was in fifth grade, I thought I had my perfect date idea. It would be the stroke of midnight and we would be standing in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge. At the tender of age of ten, I thought I knew exactly what love was: tender kisses and heartfelt promises that we would make, as the stars glistened overhead. Never mind that in New York City there aren't stars and only tiny blinking planes. I ignored the facts and cold hard reason. Everything, I decided, would be perfection.

Five months ago, in October, I thought we had the perfect date. It would be the second date we actually had, only the second date we ever had. It was to the movies, only I didn't watch the movie, I watched you and those wide blue eyes of yours. It was worth it, I can tell you that, and today while I couldn't give you the plot of First Man for the life of me, I can tell you how much I liked you. Which was a lot: I thought you were so perfect.

Nothing else was. Four years ago, I thought I knew exactly what my soulmate would be like and how our lives would unfold: just like the songs, the movies, and the tv shows. Never mind that they aren't really the truth: they looked so alike that it was awfully hard to tell them apart, and so easy to believe what they told me. That anything was possible. And though I was shy and didn't have too many friends, I did believe.

Today I know that wasn't the case. You, with those wide blue eyes of yours, those eyes that were always meant for her and never for me. After the movie, days later, we moved apart. And unlike the songs, the movies and the tv shows: we never did move back together again. Not perfection after all, I suppose. Or not for me.

And somedays I see you in the hallways together and I know that it is good that you can be together. And somedays I smile to myself and know that everything is as it should be. And sometimes I look back at my fifth grade self and laugh, knowing that in New York City there are no stars and only cold hard reason. And I know that the night I remember was not of great importance in the scheme of things, and I know that maybe perfection isn't realistic or attainable in a date. Or to expect of anyone. And somedays I think back on that day five months ago in October and...

I want it. I'm sorry, but I still want it so badly.

And somedays I think to myself, it doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be the perfect date. Somedays more than others, all I really want is to watch you again. And all I really want is to know that you feel the same way.

Forever yours,

J

(but only on somedays)