Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Too dear

Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou knows't thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate. 

In a lapse of weakness I wander into dangerous jungles: Mr. Six's long-abandoned site.  I find the above quote from Shakespeare posted years ago when he and I were just starting to blossom into a giddy romance. At the time he wrote it as part of a short semi-fiction, but after reading it again the premonition is uncanny.

I had a spontaneous dinner with Mr. Six last month. I asked him why he doesn't have a girlfriend.  I wasn't being nosy. I just needed answers. 

He launched into a technical explanation of how things didn't work, using a few fingers from his left hand to tick off the characteristics he was looking for in a woman, Muslim and Mature and Many-things, and how she failed because she couldn't understand  how busy his work requires him to be. 

I ask him, "where does love come in?"  He visibly starts, taken aback.  And then he grins sheepishly, caught being surprised at himself. 

"Geez I never thought about that."


"Well... I just assumed... well I'm sure that I will care for the girl who fulfills what I'm looking for."

I contemplated the cold dispassionate person in front of me with whom I used to spend many warm passionate nights.  Faintly wondering whether he ever really did love me, or whether I just ticked his checklists. 

It didn't really matter.  The present seemed confusing and distant.  I missed Mr. Nine for being a completely explosive opposite of Mr. Six, and for similar reasons I am wary of seeing Mr. Nine. 

It doesn't really matter now that he's not talking to me.

The only two close friends I have at work are resigning this month.  Both.

The near days ahead will feature empty cubicles, an empty blackberry inbox, banal twitter feeds, and my empty empty heart.   My bonds in thee are all determinate.

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