Today, there was a huge Comcastic blackout of the internet in/around Boston, and he helped me to circumvent it and then to fix my router following it. After everything was working again, I sent a self-deprecating email about how the internet is too complicated for me. He replied with a harsh denouncement of his misspent youth messing around with computers, followed by:Tears gushed out on the spot when I read that, and I cried for Broadway all over again. I cried that I couldn't be the one to make him happy. I cried for how solemnly he leads his life. I cried for how much weight he always has on his shoulders, mostly self-imposed and unnecessary. I cried for not knowing when he'll find his actual special someone who will be with him for the rest of his life. I cried for me not being able to make the sacrifice and just be happy with him. I cried for how much I still care and love him, and I cried for how much that love and care isn't the kind that makes me want to commit my whole life to him.
"That's how cool I was as a kid. The man you almost married. Near miss."
In the same way, I cry for HB too, but I kinda have to try a little to get the tears going. In the end, I know that HB will be okay. He'll do just fine for himself. He's got that right balance of slight cynicism with naive arrogance to get himself through, or at least to convince himself he's doing the best that he possibly can, and what he can ain't all that bad. He goes through life with no weight on his shoulders.
He loves me, but he'll do just fine without me.
4 comments:
I could see how that line could affect you so much.
See, it's funny. Or perhaps strange. Or perhaps sad. But whenever I think of some woman who has moved on to someone else, I envision them feeling nothing about me, or maybe even regret. Perhaps I am wrong? I guess there's no way to know...
I totally get this. I'm sorry.
I know what you mean. I like your distinction of how you see Broadway's vs HB's futures.
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