by digital depression » Mon Aug 25, 2003 1:26 am
pinback wrote:What is the greatest regret of your life? (So far.)
This is a repeat from another time, another place, but I suppose it bears repeating and some slight embellishment.
It was the the last Valentine's day that I can say that I enjoyed and it was, in a way, a lifetime ago. I can comprehend, now, how fragile youth and optimism is, but of course such wisdom was wholly foreign to me back then. Hers was a cute, dimpled beauty, a beauty that I had the benefit of seeing day-to-day as she went from overcool, ultra-hip girl to a bright, funny, and witty young woman. On our last "Valentine's Day," I recall a quick trip to the mall where I purchased a two small trinkets intended to be "the faux gifts." A little CD from a now-forgotten band singing about Breakfast at Tiffany's, and a giant Hershey's chocolate heart. We had been a "couple" for a two whole years at that point, and I noticed how unimpressed -- yet trying so hard to not show it -- that she was... but she failed to notice the twinkle in my eye, the continual jester's cradle in my posture as I presented those two little gifts.
I then took her hand and we went back to my truck. I opened the back and gave her the giant "Scream" print that she had mentioned being in favor of weeks before. She aired the cutest, most precious little squeal of happiness and threw her arms around me and kissed me. We hung the print, of course oblivious to how common it really is, but it's okay, for when you're 19 that's still a pretty cool thing to have around.
But that was our last. The doubt in her eyes? Our inability to ever make a leap to faith together doomed us. When her joy was at its pinnacle and I congratulated my own self on my just-in-time wit, not once did I have the actual wit to tell her that I loved her with all my heart and everything that I had.
When I was a toddler, the trick on Valentine's Day was to get as many cards as possible. They'd have those little check boxes on them, and they'd say "Do you like me? []Yes []No []Maybe." And that was good for the time. But I can't help think that the only difference between those days and those I slink about currently is the addition of a single box. One that simply says, in addition to the others, [] Like? Sure, but more, I
love... deeply, completely and truly.
And that I could never find the nerve to check that box and deliver the card myself is my greatest regret.
digital depression
[quote="pinback"]What is the greatest regret of your life? (So far.)[/quote]
This is a repeat from another time, another place, but I suppose it bears repeating and some slight embellishment.
It was the the last Valentine's day that I can say that I enjoyed and it was, in a way, a lifetime ago. I can comprehend, now, how fragile youth and optimism is, but of course such wisdom was wholly foreign to me back then. Hers was a cute, dimpled beauty, a beauty that I had the benefit of seeing day-to-day as she went from overcool, ultra-hip girl to a bright, funny, and witty young woman. On our last "Valentine's Day," I recall a quick trip to the mall where I purchased a two small trinkets intended to be "the faux gifts." A little CD from a now-forgotten band singing about Breakfast at Tiffany's, and a giant Hershey's chocolate heart. We had been a "couple" for a two whole years at that point, and I noticed how unimpressed -- yet trying so hard to not show it -- that she was... but she failed to notice the twinkle in my eye, the continual jester's cradle in my posture as I presented those two little gifts.
I then took her hand and we went back to my truck. I opened the back and gave her the giant "Scream" print that she had mentioned being in favor of weeks before. She aired the cutest, most precious little squeal of happiness and threw her arms around me and kissed me. We hung the print, of course oblivious to how common it really is, but it's okay, for when you're 19 that's still a pretty cool thing to have around.
But that was our last. The doubt in her eyes? Our inability to ever make a leap to faith together doomed us. When her joy was at its pinnacle and I congratulated my own self on my just-in-time wit, not once did I have the actual wit to tell her that I loved her with all my heart and everything that I had.
When I was a toddler, the trick on Valentine's Day was to get as many cards as possible. They'd have those little check boxes on them, and they'd say "Do you like me? []Yes []No []Maybe." And that was good for the time. But I can't help think that the only difference between those days and those I slink about currently is the addition of a single box. One that simply says, in addition to the others, [] Like? Sure, but more, I [i]love...[/i] deeply, completely and truly.
And that I could never find the nerve to check that box and deliver the card myself is my greatest regret.
digital depression