Tao of Cusack

I was watching Wicker Park last night, which, no, does not have John Cusack in it. But it made me think to Serendipity, which does. And that triggered some thoughts . . .

At times, I feel like Lloyd Dobler standing in front of Diane's house blaring a shared moment. Only to realize I'm at the wrong house. Yeah, I've written that letter. I wrote it in 8th grade, and again - metaphorically and real - on several occasions years later. Half of me wishes those "letters" never existed, destroyed by the same flames that fanned their sentiment. Each time thinking it was "that moment." Each time realizing the futility, never learning my lesson. Fortunately, futility outweighs regret. Had those letters never existed, that's exactly what would have come to pass - never having said what needed to be, even if it meant rejection and loss. Never knowing, always wondering.

However, it does seem that every story since is a composite version of that first time. But, sometimes you just have to draw the line at the unrequited. Perhaps that's the swift kick to the head that alters things forever - sitting alone, your whole life flashing before your eyes. I don't know. Does anyone know? Because I've listened to my gut in the past, and quite frankly my guts have shit for brains.

Once you get the shit beat out of you, your heart does mend and move on - thats the function of pain and heartache. The universe lets you go through that to come out to a better place. Does one listen to the thousands and thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain and loss to enhance an already fragile state, or does the misery simply resonate from the music with which we identify because of that emotional state? Do you need just someone, or do you need that certain someone? And are they calling off their wedding and heading to the park, where you now wait for them to show up?

©2006 Steve Sagarra