I know this sounds bad. Anything that starts with I’m sorry is usually bad.
I don’t know what I can say to make things easier. I can use 99 euphemisms, 272 words, 14 metaphors, and it will still be deduced to one sentence: I’m breaking up with you.
I apologize. I’m really not good at these things. I want to sound politically correct, and calm, and reasonable, but I think, there is no sense of diplomacy or yoga that can make breaking up look like a piece of cake.
I can totally hear your voice raising, and I can ever-so-clearly picture the dismayed look you have on your face.
But the truth is, I can’t. I don’t know how your voice sounds like, I don’t know what shape your eyebrows take when you get a bad news. I have no idea how you look like when you’re upset, sad, angry, bothered, annoyed, embarrassed, disappointed. Neither do I know how your eyes light up when you’re happy, glad, hopeful. I just have no idea, period.
I know it sounds so silly considering how we were never really together, and yet I am highly convinced that I owe you an explanation.
You’ve been a wonderful hypothetical boyfriend, and I am not just saying that because I am about to break your heart. I really mean it, down to the very core. How can I not? You are everything that I wanted, everything that I could hope for, everything that I imagined to be.
I would fill up pages after pages of scrap paper with my tireless stories about you, and those pages would have been left to rot had you not been around.
My idea of you kept me going when I was feeling empty. When I had absolutely nothing to do, you were there to inspire me, tickle my creativity, and motivate me to believe.
As much as I’d like to hold on to my idea of you, you will always be a hypothesis, a theory waiting to be proven, a fragment of my imagination that will never materialize in this concrete world. And I think it’s about time I put you to rest.
As you would have guessed, I met someone. Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. It just happened. Like seriously, it just happened. Really!
Though he is not as perfect as my idea of you, I don’t have to wonder whether his eyes are brown or green because I am definite it is blue. I don’t have to stay up in bed at night wondering if he is a Coke or a Pepsi person because I already know that he would choose wine in a heartbeat. I don’t have to guess what he is like because he can show me himself. I don’t have to ask questions that will be left unanswered because it will only take him one call or SMS to answer me back.
He might not come close to everything I wrote about you, in fact, he could be difficult and whingy sometimes, but he is real, right here, right now. He is as real as real can get. And believe it or not, he snores, like a train! And burps like Goliath.
But there is something about him. No, not his french accent, not the way he washes the dishes, not the way he does all these little surprises that often reduce me to a girl. I think, it is how he turns every monologue to a dialogue, how he maneuvers a one-sided relationship to a two-way highway, and how he changes a you and me to us.
Don’t get me wrong. He is flawed as equally as I am. Our personalities clash. A lot! He is the guy who eats his breakfast with a knife and fork and I am the girl who eats my BLT sandwich with bare hands. We tease each other like we’re back in kindergarten. We challenge and play bets against each other yet neither is ready to accept defeat.
We don’t mesh like sand and water. We get on each other’s nerves like matchstick and sandpaper, and we’re alright with that. We know when there is friction, there is fire.
I would really want to give him and I a fair shot–a real, genuine, Kobe Bryant shot. As much as I enjoyed writing about you, I cannot wait to start living my story with him.
I’m sure I am not the only one who thinks of an ideal boyfriend. Before we know it, someone else will start writing about you, thinking of you, wondering about you, waiting for you to pop out of thin air, and I know that when that happens, you will be there to enthuse their curiosity and tickle their imagination the way you did to mine.