Like the little search box on Facebook that shows me a hundred faces to every name I type in. So I look for you there, assuming you’d probably be the only one with that twisted name. Turns out, you are. But there others too with a shortened version of your name. And so I look at them, almost certain that I will find another version of you in them. A version I can maybe send a friend request to and leave a message perhaps- “hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I have missed you. Do you think we can talk?”
I imagine what that would be like. This version of you will cry the moment she sees my name on her Facebook page. See she’s beautiful this version, she’s smart, she’s made a name for herself, she takes care of herself and she needs no one, but has many. She’s content, this version. And successful.But when she sees my name on her Facebook page, she cries. She thinks of all the places she went wrong, and she cries. She responds to my message, accepts my request and says-“wow, look how beautiful you’ve grown to be. Proud. So proud you make me. Do you think we can meet? Do you think we could talk? Is there a number I can reach you on?”
And then I cry. And look at yet another version of you: this one’s my favourite. She’s already on my Facebook. She knows me so well. I tag her on updates, tag her on places we’ve been to, places we’ve just had a great dinner at, on funny, loveable and honest pictures we take together. She’s great, this version. Heck I’d even go so far as to say she loves me. And she knows me. I would be sad to lose her.
And then I close my computer, go out for a walk. My heart skips a beat when I see a face and another, and then another, so many faces that could be you. Not because you look alike. But something in the way they walk, the way they carry their burdens and stand tall, the way they do their hair, their mannerisms. Nothing like you, and so much like you. Or how you could be. I can’t tell.
I look for you in happy places. Like a grocery store. I try to peep into so many eyes, and wonder if I can find you in them. Any version of you I love. How these versions differ from you is simple-they want me. I want them too sometimes, because they don’t pretend like they don’t know me. I matter to them. They’d see me on a street and call out my name. And I’d be thrilled to hear the sound of those two syllables leaving their cords.
But most other times, I’m just happy being this version of us. It’s the best version of a ‘no strings attached’ relationship I’ve ever seen. It’s what keep me unstrung and floating. And now, I’m almost okay with that.
I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to you again, so I look for you in familiar places. Like the search box on Facebook, or the ‘people you may know’ section. And I find you, since you’re the only one who takes pride that twisted name that’s only part real.
But as it turns out, I get nothing out of your page. It’s as empty as you.