Is it the end?

For the last few weeks, I’ve been putting off going through what you’ve left for me. I keep hoping it’ll be romantic, funny, encouraging and heartbreaking, all at the same time. And I delay – trying to find the perfect moment, when I’m wide awake, focused only on you, absorbing each and every feeling from what is probably our last time together. The more I wait, the harder it is to get through with it.

We met a few years back. Friends told me about you a couple of times, saying you are perfect for me, but nothing really happened – we didn’t even meet. I don’t remember when we first met, but I do remember we didn’t hit it off at first. Then a while later – I have no idea whether this was a day, a year or more – we suddenly hit it off. I was in love.

You are one of the funniest, smartest girls I have ever met. A geeky chick, you could make the silliest joke about someone’s ass, then a minute later make an observation so insightful, that it would stay with me for weeks and months. At times sarcastic it seemed you care about no one, at others so pure, naïve and absurdly romantic that I’d fall ever more in love with you. Whenever you were coming, I would was always get excited, hyped, just waiting to see you, hear you, be around you. Even now, I can feel that excitement just thinking of that one last bit you’ve left me, still wrapped and waiting for the right time.

Now, it’s not that we were exclusive. Heck, we were never even a couple – we both had other relationships. You’d come for a short visit, and we would spend some magical time together, feeling the special connection we have, something that no one else really understands. Then, you’d wander off to whatever it is you had to do, and I’ll go back to the regular day-to-day events, waiting for the next time you’ll send me a message or appear in my living room.

The last time you left was different though. It seemed like this is it – you’re the sort of girl that needs a crowd, and when I couldn’t give it to you, the chances of you coming back seemed pretty slim. When you finally came back, something changed. You seemed like a shadow of your former self – lacking focus, sometimes not funny at all, sometimes feeling like I don’t know who you are anymore. The last couple of years felt like that, but I remained loyal; once in a while, I’d see a spark of your old self, and that was enough for me.

I often tell my friends about you. When I do, my eyes sparkle; I feel my heart jumping up and down, and warm happiness starts flowing through my body. I suddenly have a big smile, and a sense of purpose. To be honest, most of them just don’t get it. They try to fake a laugh when I tell them one of your jokes, or pretend they think your insights are deep, but I see them quickly turning to other subject, trying to move to a different topic without me noticing. I don’t mind – what we have is ours and ours alone.

You’ve gone away a couple of weeks ago, and I still can’t bring myself to see what’s there. Last time you left, I didn’t even know you’re going, but you did; you left me a wonderful present that I still carry with me today. This time around, we both know it’s goodbye, at least for a while, and this letter is my small parting gift to you.

Thanks for being who you are, for giving me some of the finest moments I’ve had, for the fond memories, and for accepting me for who I am. I don’t know when, but maybe one day I’ll here you entering my life again, using your so familiar phrase:

Good news everyone!

RIP Futurama.
At least until you’re back again.

Leela, Orphan of the Stars

God: Bender, being god isn’t easy. If you do too much, people get dependent on you, and if you do nothing, they lose hope. You have to use a light touch, like a safe-cracker or a pickpocket.
Bender: Or a guy who burns down a bar for the insurance money!
God: Yes, if you make it look like an electrical thing. When you do things right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all.

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