Dots, Dashes, and Contracts
The drag about unconventional relationships — and the conventional ones.
First times are special.
First day at school.
First kiss.
First note in iPhone’s Notes app.
Here’s mine:
It was a chilly April morning, just a couple of minutes before 8 am. I was sitting on a bench at the riverside. A paper cup of hot coffee in my left hand. A chocolate croissant on my right. I was in love. Crazier and more hopeless than ever before. And I was almost 32 years old.
Aren’t you supposed to fall in love crazy only as a teenager? And then, with your twentieth birthday, you grow up and never do anything stupid again?
Maybe I got it wrong.
The bench, where I was now sitting alone, was one of “our” spots. Perhaps it was more “my” spot. She lived a short flight or a long car ride away. We spoke daily nonetheless. Every morning in her town, she used to shop for fresh pastries and stop in a park before coming home. I used to stop on my way to the office at a bench on the riverside.
Seeing her blue eyes and freckled face was making my day every day even if it was just on a small screen of my iPhone 5s.
I must have looked silly to anyone passing by on the path leading along the river — a guy in a suit and a white shirt sweet-talking to the screen.
I didn’t care.
I was in love.
The drag about relationships without attachments is that you get no guarantees. Your world can turn upside down in a moment.
One day, she told me: “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.” That was Sunday.
All I could say was: “I understand.”
Since then, five days of silence.
It was Friday morning, and I was coming to terms with reality. She made herself disappear.
Then, my phone vibrated. I laid the croissant down on a paper bag and looked at the phone.
A message from her. Dots and dashes.
The drag about conventional relationships is the growing expectations. Slowly but steadily, they turn into a contract with rigid terms and conditions.
We are together, therefore: Love me. Talk to me. Be there for me.
If not, there will be repercussions.
On that Friday morning, I was fully aware that my love was not insured.
Like a climber without a rope whose hand slipped and — for a split second — he thought his fate was to fall into the abyss. But then grabbed onto something and saved himself from the fall. And suddenly, felt more alive than ever.
I copied the message into the Notes app on my new iPhone, put it back in my pocket, and sipped on the coffee. It had never tasted this good.
I was in love.
I knew that all I got was a short extension. Maybe by a month, maybe by a year. At some point, it was sure to end.
But hey, so are all our lives.
I typed my response:
And started dreaming of our next meeting.
Thank you for reading.
You can share your outstanding stories and inspire others. Just click the below image and be a writer for The Masterpiece.
