You Can't Always Get What You Want

At times I envision the two of them so clearly it’s as if I were physically standing across the room. I watch as they fall into the couch and entwine their bodies in one fluid, effortless motion. As though they were born attached, or simply custom made to fit each other’s niches.

The TV is on, pointlessly, as they’re constantly distracted by one another—a quiet tickle, a stroke of the hair. The intimacy of these small gestures is powerful, and the reality—the fact that their relationship is merely a fantasy— does nothing to diminish my obsession in watching it play out.

I see them shopping, eating, reading the Sunday paper sprawled out on the floor of a sunny breakfast nook. I see them making love.

Friendship is their foundation. They trust one another from deep within. They laugh. And as I watch their relationship blossom, it’s evident that there is an ever-growing bond. But at the same time, the complexity diminishes. It simplifies as it grows.

Other people watch them as I do. They’re the kind of couple that passersby take note of. I remember when we used to look at each other that way. No matter that I am one of the key players. The objectivity I enjoy by creating their story is liberating and allows me to lose myself in the dream. After all of this time, they are as familiar to me as a worn teddy bear or tattered paperback that comforts as sleep comes, and serve the same purpose.

Some day, I think. Some way. But the day won’t come in this lifetime. This kind of relationship is unattainable to me, and so I watch it mature, and relish what I can, in the privacy of my own mind. It’s safe there. No one can tell me all of the pesky reasons why I can’t live the dream. But the ache to do just that…the ache…never goes away.