To the man that never was

To the man that never was,

Sometimes all I can do is think of you, the man that never was. The man I always craved for, whether it was my closeted high school hook up, the bad boy next door who treated only me nicely, the guy I lusted for in uni that we never ended up getting together, the hot neighbour that flirted with me on the way to the elevator, the guy at the bookshop with the ankle monitor, the grindr date that ghosted me, the boyfriend that never was, the husband that never was, the partner I always dreamed of.

Yes, it is one of those melancholic days. One of the days where I wonder what if. What if I had made a different choice? What if I answered that question a different way? What if I was single then? What if I had chosen that casual outfit? What if I looked different? There are many reasons that cause one of these days, another failed online dating app interaction, another failed date, another failed relationship or something that just made me feel lonely…

Since I was young I had notions of what I wanted my life to be like when I grow up. I wanted to be a detective(along with my trusted German shepherd) or a vet or a power ranger or a doctor. In all the scenarios there was always one thing that was constant, there was always a partner next to me, and more specifically my partner was always sitting next to me on a sofa. They never had specific looks, jobs, ethnicities, where they were based in the world or character traits. There was only one thing that remained the same in my ruminations (a word I proudly learned from my therapist), the sofa scene and how comfortable and calm I felt next to them. The house changed based on where I was in my life but one thing was constant, there was always a comfy sofa, in front of a massive window with a view of the outdoors. What we did on the sofa changed as well from time to time. Sometimes we would watch a movie or a TV show, sometimes we would debate art, sometimes we would read books (romance novels for me, something more intellectual for you), sometimes I would listen to you talk about football (yes, things got dark at times), sometimes I would make collages while you explain where you dream of filming you next movie, sometimes it was the location of your casual proposal while having Tuesday dinner. There were many more scenarios, more than stars in the sky possibly each representing a different desire.

With every day that passes and every mishap in my personal life, this dream of the man in the sofa feels further and further away. So to you, the man in the sofa, the man that never was, my number 9, I want to tell you that I am thinking of you and I miss you, even if I have never met you.

To whomever may read this, the following postscript is for you.

Ps. I write this listening to Ben Platt’s ‘Run Away’ because that song always gives me permission to feel what I need to feel at the moment (especially if accompanied with the piano scene from the Politician, to this day one of the most devastating, gut wrenching, raw, beautifully acted and staged scenes I have ever watched) so you might want to give it a listen while reading this, but if you don’t that is also OK, I am not here to tell you what to do.