Dear Other Man,
You will know it when she starts to tire of you.
The light you now see in her eyes will grow dim. The intensity will drain from
your conversations. She will seek you out less often. She will not stare into
your soul as much. She won’t shake her head and do her little inner chuckle. You,
you will be left feeling like a man slowly dying of thirst. And she will be the
water tower, exalted far above your reach. I should know.
I have become background noise; the one-time hit now fading into nothingness. I’m that wallpaper you barely even notice.
And you, you’re her Mona Lisa hanging in the spotlight. The mystery of your
almost-smile has captured her. I can’t see your face but I know you’re there,
enjoying every minute; because I’ve been where you are.
Now, she hangs on to every word you
say. You can see this, but that won’t stop her from telling you anyway. She
will tell you how much she values your insight, how many times she read your
last text message, how her heart races when she hears your voice on the
phone. You will see the pleasure in her eyes every time she sees you; she won’t
even try to hide it. She will hold your hand each time you cross a street
together, letting your body shield hers, and you will know how it feels to be
God. In the periods of measured silence between you, you will find yourself aching
for her. You will call her. You will revel in her delight.
But as with all things that were once new, you
will get old. Your stories will start to sag and fold in all the places that
were once firm and tight; and you will be helpless, trying to prop them up, to plug the holes now appearing like those ‘Whack-a-Mole’ moles. She will come to know
the end of every adventure story before you tell it. She will know of better ones
and she will tell them, her eyes challenging you to top them, to do something to
make her look. And with all your strength you will want to. You’d give your
next breath to be able to.
But you will see yourself losing her. That,
dear current Shiny New Thing, will suck the air from your lungs. When you begin to fade from her sight, you will know how I feel. You will see it coming, and you
will be unable to redeem yourself. And that, my friend, will kill you. I should know.
Sincerely,
Wallpaper
