You’re gone, and I don’t think you’re coming back.
I had hoped that one day we would be able to have this conversation. That I would be able to explain. I guess now it’s just more of a eulogy than anything else, but I wanted to tell you, if you are listening, or watching, or should ever turn up again, a few things that I hope will make it easier for you to understand. If it even matters to you or you even care.
So here it is, in black and white. I am pretty sure now that you have been watching me since the moment I first laid eyes on you. And studying me. And that you know that I like you. And that you have spent a lot of time trying to figure out who I am and what I am “about.” And just what it is I like about you. I’ve done my homework, too.
And you know what? Like everyone, I’ve done, said and written a lot of stupid &^$% over the years about a lot of things. I’m pretty sure you’ve seen that, too. Maybe somewhere along the way you took all of the things I wrote, an awful lot of it completely tongue in cheek, and made some sort of composite out of them, and thought, ‘who the &($#&(#$ is this?’ I guess I would have If I were you.
But the simple truth is that, when I first saw you, I never in a million, billion years thought I’d ever come remotely close to meeting anyone or anybody like you in my life. And then, like magic, there you were, right there, in my hometown. At a tournament ten minutes from my home. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life, truly. I’d seen you on television, and the Internet, and you were the stuff of magazine covers, really. How could I have possibly expected that a girl like you wasn’t taken? Wouldn’t have a zillion suitors? It wasn’t even possible. Not a possibility I could begin to imagine. Even as my heart exploded with joy on the day I first got to see you play, my eyes filled with tears because I knew I would never stand a chance in your presence. I thought that even if I tried to say hello to you, congratulate you, tell you how much I liked watching you play, you’d sign an autograph for me and then once’d I’d gone, laugh it off with your friends. From my perspective, I had no chance with you. Can’t you see that?
So, like a moron, over the years, when I had more opportunities to see you play, I hid inside a defensive shell, like it didn’t matter that I was head over heels for you. So I wouldn’t get hurt. Because I knew better. You were an impossible dream, someone so unattainable I just wasn’t going to let myself get too invested. Even though all along I guess I knew that wasn’t true att all.
I made the stupid “bar jokes” on the tennis forums, about players and whatever else was current or relevant, with the other guys, as a distraction. I went to other tennis tournaments, and took lots of photos, and shot videos, mostly upon request of other fans, some because I wanted to try to get my mind off of you, maybe some simply because I enjoyed the tennis. But the reality is, that was just an escape, a vacation from my every day life.
For when I picture a woman, the woman in my dreams, the woman that makes me smile, she’s beautiful, sexy, intelligent, kind, charming, vivacious, adventurous, spirited, curious, considerate, thoughtful, bewitching, brunette, and has the most amazing eyes and smile ever. She seems to be an awful lot like you.
I know I’m not much to look at but I care about you an awful lot. Sincerely. I shouldn’t have to say that at this point. I’ve wanted to meet you forever. It should be pretty obvious to you, after all these years, expressing concern for your well being, hopes for your health and happiness. And, yes, pining away for you in the ridiculous and far-fetched romantic hope that you really are single, and maybe don’t have anyone in your life, and are lonely, and touched by my affection for you, and hoping that someday we’ll meet. I don’t know if you hate me, or like me or have no idea who I am or nothing at all. Or even care about any of this.
I hope you can see that I’m taking a big risk putting my heart out there for you. But every time you disappear, it makes me think I have all of this completely wrong. That it is someone else. Or that you are playing a game with me. And then I discover something else that makes me think I’m completely crazy. I’m not even sure if you like the videos, hate them or don’t even care that they are there. I’m so confused.
I wish so much that I could talk to you. I just wanted to explain how it feels on this side.