The world we live in these days might be a lot simpler in a lot of ways – but in that increased simplicity…there is also a loss of depth that I sometimes lament. Love is ever increasingly becoming a virtual concept, I feel – and it’s the physicality of it that I sometimes find myself missing.
No. I’m not talking about fuckery and the likes – you dirty minded people. But we no longer write love letters on actual paper, sent with a kiss pressed to the envelope. Or have dresser drawers filled with old movie tickets, receipts for that one time we went for milkshakes at the diner and ended up skinny dipping in a lake and the wrapper to the gum he offered you the first time you met. Or well – I don’t – maybe there ARE people that still uphold these standards, who knows.
The ‘proof’ of a relationship in my world, however, often can’t be captured in photo-albums filled with pictures anymore. There are no walls littered with past experiences – framed and eternalized. There’s no more diaries with pages sticking from the tears you shed while writing or flowers pressed between heavy books and dried to perfection. And I find that a bit sad – to be totally honest. My inner romantic is shriveled up and dried at the concept of modern love.
It’s all just Whatsapp conversations, and phone galleries. Facebook likes and Insta loves. And when relationships end, all we seemingly still have to do is press a bunch of delete buttons to remove all trace from our lives (at least, that is my approach to these things).
But that virtuality doesn’t allow for the freedom that can be brought about by a little drama in the physical world. Throwing reminders through a room at full power, smashing what once-was-his. Rushing into the backyard with arms full of items that you can no longer bear and setting fire to the remnants of what you’re now missing.
I miss that edge of ‘crazy’ from those movies we all watched, where the heartbroken girls sit next to that bonfire of has-beens with their all-through-life-friends and stare into the flames that burn away they pain while they cheer on their future. It’s a form of closure that I always appreciated, I guess.
So when the mailman brought me a package from my favorite uncle Ali (Xpres) a while back – with a gift that was meant for the now-ex – the thought immediately spun up in my mind.
Burn. That. Shit.
It was conveniently (for my sanity) delivered when I had two friends over, so any mental breakdowns were covered by friendly words and kind actions (and wine) – but after shoving it into a drawer never to be looked upon again, I reconsidered this morning. A bonfire might be just what I need. And those Ali items are usually highly flammable in their extreme quality, so I’m pretty damn sure it’ll burn. Although it IS kinda hot to be lighting up any fires, but then…what’s a little more heat on days like these, no?
All I need now is some matches. Maybe some gasoline. And definitly a playlist that is officially lit. With songs better than ‘disco inferno’.
R. Kelly – Burn it up maybe?
Time for a breakup bonfire.
(Ps. breakup bonfires do not equal mental breakdowns. Just saying. Sane people can also just be a little crazy sometimes. That’s allowed. Shush your worries.)