Do you have any idea how valuable you are? It’s obvious that I’ve liked you since we first met, but have you ever taken a moment to wonder why? You may not believe this, but my liking you has little to do with how you look & much to do with how you act. Out of all the miraculous three sisters, you are the most stunning. Sure, your beauty is what caught my attention; but its your behavior that’s kept it. It’s your personality that’s made you unforgettable.
You’re bashful. It’s so unheard of to see a girl as pretty as you are to act so shy. You’re so timid & cautious, especially in your interactions with men. Girls as majestic-looking as you are are typically the life of the party & aren’t ashamed to act the part; of course sometimes, girls that beautiful also act like they’re too good to speak to just anybody because they know they can pick & choose who their friends are. I don’t see either quality in you. I don’t perceive your reluctance to socialize as arrogance but as sincere caution. You’re so proper. You somehow manage to remain polite if some male counterpart insists on speaking to you without necessarily encouraging them to keep doing so. You’re so modest. It’s absolutely adorable.
You young & beautiful. You’ve been sheltered as the youngest daughter from a good family. All through high school, you’d use your free time studying, playing sports, working, or going to church. Leisure time was meant working out with your sister or your mom or going shopping with your mom. When you went off to college, you had every opportunity to rebel & to assert your independence as “the Party Queen of Campus;” but instead, you’d come home to work a shift, workout, go shopping with your mom, go to church, & go back to college. You weren’t just a “good girl” because it’s all you ever knew: you were a “good girl” because that’s just really who you were, even when you had a chance to become otherwise.
My guy friends used to ridicule me because I never aimed to play the field. I never yearned to sleep with a hundred girls or to have a different girlfriend for every weekend of their youth. I used to go out on a weekend night with my buddies & was just happy to be off work, among friends–just appreciating “having a life.” But out of every group there was always one guy who would moan & groan about what a waste of time it was because he wasn’t getting laid. I was amazed to realize that there were people like that: men who genuinely expected a sexual encounter every time they went out in public on a weekend night. I thought to myself: “This guy can’t be serious! Even if he managed to find a willing partner, where would said activity occur given we’re swarmed by a large crowd in the middle of public?” It wasn’t even envy that I felt towards them but confusion. They always seemed so agitated. They had such a narrow set of conditions that determined enjoyment of leisure time. They looked like drug addicts to me; always itching for that next fix. No thanks. The way I was brought up, the feelings I’ve always harbored on my own—I didn’t need the entire world to love me. I just needed one girl to love me; & as long as she was committed to me, she would be my entire world.
Knowing this, I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you by now to tell you that I frequently had my heart broken. My feminist friends tell me is my own fault for holding women to unfair standards. My “bad boy” friends tell me it’s the girl’s fault because they are all filthy creatures incapable of loyalty; which is perhaps why the seek to engage in intimacy with so many. As misguided as this may sound on paper, sadly, it’s the “bad boys” who always manage to have the most success with the girls. It bothers me as much as it bothers the feminist next to me. These men don’t deserve the attention they get from women; not the “good girls,” anyway.
I didn’t need a hundred party girls. I needed one good girl. I needed one girl to invest all my energies in, to put all my faith in. The rest of the world be damned. I just needed someone who, above all else, would be faithful to me; faithful to us. And after I met you & observed your behavior to just a couple of months, something became clear to me.
I’ve waited my entire life to meet you. I hate to label myself, but I’m a nice guy. And you, Lauren–you’re every nice guy’s dream come true. You are the single relationship that would indemnify a nice guy’s purpose: would invalidate all the heart breaks & broken promise. You alone would make the nice guy whole, even if you were the only person who understood & accepted him—because you’re the only person who mattered.
When I saw you with that cheap, bald, fat, disgusting manager–that “bad boy” who never evolved past high school; that one time class clown who found himself in a mid-life crisis & was clinging to the past because he knew that everything he would ever experience of value in life was behind him, not ahead of him–when he managed to win your affection…managed to corrupt the “one good girl who mattered”….the one girl who was incorruptible…..my own “Modern Day Eve,” my “Living Miracle”……if this loser could win you over then the sun was truly stolen from the sky & this world was truly condemned to the darkness of hedonism. Bad boy winning who over was enough to steal all hope away from this world. But Bad Boy’s winning you OVER ME….that was an insult within an insult. It was bad enough for me to accept living in hopeless world; but after losing you directly to this DEMON made me wish this world would just hurry up & end.
I waited my whole life for you. But how could I wait my whole life just to experience the latest in a series of disappointments? What’s so special about that? You’re a prophecy unfulfilled to me, Lauren. You’re the biggest of all the broken promises I’ve endured. You know how the saying goes: “Nice guys finish last.” I used to respond to this declaration by saying, “Not if she’s a good girl.” But sadly, even in your case, Lauren—darkness prevails. The last guy finished last even to the sweetest girl in the history of humanity. And no one rewards last place with a blue ribbon.
Oh, Lauren. You are my very own “Paradise Lost.” The only thing that could make you, my latest heartbreak, live up to my expectation of special now is if you’re the last heart break I’ll ever have to endure. Fuck the blue ribbon; I’ll take that as my reward.