I sit here at the desk in my overpriced Ann Arbor apartment, the scent of Island Waters wafting up from the ocean blue candle on my left, remembering the day that now seems so long ago when we met in the North Quad Dining Hall.
I recall, specifically, that thanks to limited seating availability in that most regal of dining spaces on the University of Michigan campus, we sat across from each other at one of the four-person tables positioned a galaxy away from the entrance. Other students sat with us, of course, but we both know they were peripheral, asteroids meandering around our combined planetary orbit.
Despite these outer-spacial metaphors, our conversation had nothing to do with life beyond our Earth or the cosmic mysteries surrounding that seemingly-infinite canvas of stars. Rather we kept things simple and sweet, the way I imagine those falling in love at first sight would conduct themselves.
In a somewhat miraculous and unprecedented move, I crawled out of my tortoise-like shell of shyness and spoke actual, verbal, audible words to you, words which I still believe must have warmed your heart.
"You look just like Blake Lively," I said.
"Aww, thank you," you said, as a slight red hue came over your cheeks.
And that was all we needed to say; nothing more, nothing less. In that momentary exchange, a bridge between our souls was forged of love-laden steel, a bridge which, to this day, as I sit here and reminisce, still stands as resolutely now as that afternoon two years ago when it was first constructed.
The only problem now is that we've lost sight of the ends of that bridge, gone gallivanting off to green pastures and roving fields and mirage-filled deserts and rolling hills.
I implore you, Blake-alike: look once more for the end of that bridge; come back to me and let us revel in further exchanges of uncomplicated flattery.
Until then, I'll camp out at my end of the bridge.
P.S. If That Girl I Met During Senior Summer Who Looked Like Selena Gomez finds me first, I'm sorry, you're out of luck.