drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- milo milo milo I was driving home tonight and it was dark. The moon was half-full (or half empty, whichever you like), and there were hardly any cars on the road. I started to sob. Why, you ask? I missed Milo. I started remembering all the things about him, and us. What a weird way to first fall in love. When you've never even met face-to-face. But that's how I knew how wonderful he was. He charmed the pants off of me (not literally, at least not for a while) before I even knew what he looked like or sounded like. He excelled on both those counts, however. When he first sent me a picture via email, I remember being floored at how such an incredible, hilarious, superintelligent, articulate guy could be gorgeous, too. That night I had my first date ever with a guy I'd been enthralled with...up till then. I couldn't stop thinking about Milo. And his voice, oh, his voice. We're talking a Londonite from birth, people, which translates into 'incredibly sexy accent'. Add to that a velvety baritone voice, and ohhh.... Don't think we were falling in love blindly. Well, not completely. We couldn't hide behind our looks or facades. All we had were words. And eventually, 12-hour-long phone conversations. Yes, you read that right. When I discovered I was in love with him, the world was different. Things bounced off easily, nothing could touch me. I was wildly, ecstatically happy. The most wonderful boy in the whole world loved me more than anything in the world, and was completely mine. He thought I was the most incredible thing on earth. I felt like I'd never need to worry about anything again, as long as I had him, I'd be fine. All you need is love, right? Wrong. All you need is love right next to you. Love halfway across the world just isn't quite the same. But oh, it was lovely. There were lovely moments. He made me a CD after we'd fallen in love. It had Billie Holiday's 'Night and Day'. Louis Armstrong's 'All of Me'. Yes, it had Ella Fitzgerald's 'At Last'. But, just like everyone else will say, for us it was really special. She was singing about us. 'I've Never Been in Love Before' from Guys and Dolls. 'Lucky' by Radiohead. 'Marry Me Now' from Will Roger's review or something like that. Yes, they all sound like clich�d love songs, but we were in love. They were ours. Every word, every note, every idiosyncracy in the song belonged to us. They summed us up perfectly, they gave life to our love. I remember picking that CD up from the post office. It was in a small, CD-sized package, covered in stamps with the queen on them. My name was written in that sweet, endearingly childish hand. I took it out and looked at it in what can only be described as reverence. The front cover was a picture of a palm tree from his trip to Barcelona. The song listings were spread out in the palm tree to mimic the way the branches fell. On the back was a picture of the wing of the plane he'd taken, and superimposed onto it were the words, "I love you." It was like a proclamation from a departing train. On the inside he'd written, I left for Honolulu almost immediately upon receiving it, and was unable to contact him for a few days, which, by then, was of course quite a strain on my psyche. However, I had that CD to sustain me. We were staying at a beautiful house in which we always stay when we go to Honolulu. The cool thing about it is it's separated into two buildings: one, the kitchen, dining room, and living room, then a huge open space with a swimming pool in the middle, then the three bedrooms. Each is open, with a sliding rice-paper-covered door to shut out the wind, of which there's never any. It's always perfectly warm and dry, and lush there. I used to lay on my bed, at dusk, when the sun was fading and the only light came from a warm yellow lamp by my bed and the distorted pool light. The door was open, and I could hear my sisters' laughter and splashing in the pool. I'd lay there, so peacefully, with my headphones on, listening to that wonderful CD. I was euphoric. At night, lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, all I'd have to do was think about Milo and the life I knew we'd have together and I'd be out like a light. I slept so well in those days. There are a hundred million memories like that, some in his company, most not, that make me sob, and sigh. Our song was 'The Luckiest', by Ben Folds. He played it over the phone to me, then read me the lyrics. We were both crying by the end of it, and both thinking the same thing. We were young, and in love, and thought we were soulmates. We wanted to get married. And we wanted that song to be played at our wedding. "I don't get many things right the first time And where was I before the day That I am What if I'd been born fifty years before you And in a white sea of eyes That I am I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong That I am What happens when you don't end up together? Are you still soulmates? When I got home tonight, my mom asked why I looked like I'd been crying. I said, "It'll sound silly, but okay. I miss Milo." And, sounding not at all surprised, she said, "Well, it was just around this time that Milo first told you he liked you." She explained that it's called, 'Anniversary' (how original) and it's a weird phenomenon where our bodies remember even if our brains don't. Somehow my body remembered and missed him, even if it didn't tip my head off. Spooky, huh? And look, I've written a novel. Well, "I could write a book...about the way you walk and whisper, and look..." 11:28 p.m. - 2003-12-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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