Speed of the Sound of Loneliness

Thank you! 

Thank you Elodie. 

And believe me, this is not how I planned to start this. I changed it at the very last moment. 

Do you want to know how I planned it in the first place? Well, fuck you! 

And yes, it was "fuck you". So why I changed it? Who knows... 

Maybe I'm to sensitive, or else I'm getting soft?

***

It all started so simple. I mean bored to death simple. Like 99% of love stories in the world. 

You know. Boy sees a girl, boy likes a girl, boy smiles at her, she doesn't give a shit (they never give a shit at this point), but the boy (Boy may be a bit overstretched, so maybe man? Manchild? Oh the fuck, let's just call him Marco) is persistent and charming and clever and nice, so finally she says yes. And she smiles. Oh what a smile! The last thing he wanted to see before he dies was that smile. 

You see, other men (Normal men, men that women are always bitching about) would think something like this at that moment: "Are those B cups or C cups? Is she completely shaved? What's her favorite position? I bet she's a little bit dirty. Maybe I'll finally have a threesome..." and so on. 

But this particular man/boy/manchild (Marco, I said Marco!) was anything but normal (When I say normal, I mean regular. Which probably is normal.). He was a "nice guy". A guy that women like to befriend and complain to about the bastards they're dating.

So, he's thinking about her smiling at him in his deathbed. He's thinking about two of them buying new curtains. He's thinking about moving in together: "Would she move in with me? Or I'd have to move in with her? Where does she lives? How much commute to work would that be? Oh fuck, I bet she lives up north and I'll have to change like 3 trains! Shit... 

Those are very nice B cups and she probably likes to be on top.". 

Yeah, that's Marco. He overthinks everything. Literally everything. 

So they talked, and she smiled, and she laughed, and she agreed to see him again. And again. And again. And again. And again. 

It was like the fifth or the sixth date when he made his move. Yeah, guys who overthink everything (the "what if" guys, if you want) don't make their move that easily. They have to get to a near-trans state of mind to do it. I'm talking about "bend a spoon mentally" state of mind. 

And it's always the "what if" guys ("nice guys", same thing), the guys that want everything to be perfect for her that end up with a problem down there at some point. At the most embarrassing point, if you know what I mean. And let's face it, you do. 

I never heard about guys who thinks with their "love stick" having a problem with it. Which is ironic on so many levels... 

That's why women always cheat nice guys with bastards. But, to be completely fair here, they do the opposite as well. Women are very logical that way, they'd never cheat a nice guy with a nice guy, or a bastard with another bastard. Men are different, they'd cheat anybody with anybody. Just because she was there...

But I digress, sorry.

They did move in together, and pretty fast actually. And they bought their curtains, and she didn't lived that far after all (2 trains), and everything was going so great (too great, he feared, but he was trying not to think about it). 

He was finally happy, after a long time. And he thought she was too. She seemed she was, anyway.
Of course, they had theirs ups and downs like any relationship. There were days when he hated the day he met her, and vice versa. But nothing alarming. He really thought they were good together. (To be honest his criteria were far away from what they used to be, but that's normal when you're getting older.)
Anyway, he thought "this is it" (that wasn't the first time he thought that, but this time he was sure). For god's sake he was looking for THE ring (not literally, but you know what I mean). 

By now you probably know where this is going, and I would love so much that I can surprise you, but that's not how life works. 

One Friday he came home and found a "Dear John" letter (A fucking letter, Elodie!). A letter full of clichés from which he could understand that she wasn't unhappy, she hasn't stopped loving him, she wasn't even that bored, she just wanted something new. "Something a little bit different.", to be precise. And that she'll be back only next Sunday, which gives him plenty of time to... Well, basically to get the fuck out of her apartment and her life. And, of course, how sorry she was, because he's such a nice guy...

***

A fucking letter, Elodie?! A little bit different??? Well fuck you after all! We're not twenty any more, we're pushing forty you miserable old cow! How's that for different? 

That would be the end of this at the time. Or even yesterday. But now I'm grateful for what you did. I passed by your building this afternoon on my way to the canal Saint Martin. Do you remember how much I loved to take walks by the Canal? I still do. And today I realized that I enjoyed more the company of Nirvana, The Pixies, Violent Femmes and Elvis Costello in my earphones than I ever really enjoyed yours. You showed me how sweet the sound of loneliness can be. And for that, I'll always be thankful. 

So what in the world's come over you

And what in heaven's name have you done

You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness

You're out there running just to be on the run 

(I don't think I ever played you this song, and I'm so happy about it. There's no way you could ever understand it. Not in this life anyway.)