Mmmm. Nat King Cole – a consummate crooner, indeed. I love a crooner. I am not a crooner. I am more of a belter. Well, I was. It remains to be seen (or heard) what I have left of my singing voice after this present bout with laryngitis. But, my sorrows over singing (or not being able to) are a lament for another day. Today is about being unforgettable.
Whatever I am, and regardless of how very easy I am to discard, I am not that easy to forget. Somehow, I find a bit of comfort in that. That although I often seem to be “the flavour of the month”, I promise you, it’s hard to get that taste out of your mouth.
This is sounding a bit big-headed, isn’t it? I strive for my blog not to be merely another indulgence in narcissistic drivel containing megalomaniac tendencies…like so many blogs are. But, today I am hurting…so, therefore, forgive me for being a tad indulgent.
Yet another recent friendship gained and quickly lost has certainly proved out the easily discard-able thing. Flavour of the Month. People get infatuated with the idea of me, not with me myself. Then, they really get to know me and they look for the nearest bin to chuck me in. The thing is I rarely ever pursue a (close) friendship with anyone because I don’t really like being a glutton for punishment… but there are people who pursue me, and then I hope that this time it will be different and I will have a buddy for life. I think, well, this person is interested in (close) friendship; they keep talking to me, messaging me, wanting to be around me, and I start to think that maybe I’m not just a temporary pastime this time around. They tell me I’m great, they tell me I’m special and amazing, they tell me I’m the best friend ever. They make me believe…and, then, POOF! Gone! I was duped into thinking that I was more to them than something to do while they were waiting for something else to come along. Here, I was giving my heart, but they were just killing time.
Sometimes it takes months for it to happen. Sometimes only weeks. It never gets any easier. It never hurts me any less.
But, while I don’t get the last laugh – it’s too melancholy a subject to even use that word for – I get the last sad, knowing smile…because no matter how far you push me down in that bin, I’ve already touched you somewhere deep. If at anytime in our brief interaction that I called a friendship you enjoyed my company, you liked the way I made you feel, you liked the way I made you laugh and if you let me in just a little bit, then I’ve permanently marked you. It’s my consolation prize, and I’m not apologising to you for it.