Late at night, when I’m over-tired, under-fed and scratchy-eyed, I sit and stare at my computer screen. As if, if I stare hard enough, it will become my room-mate.
A living, breathing, talking to me room-mate.
I lived alone for a mere six months of my life. I loved it. I loved the solitude. But I missed the companionship. I missed the impromptu afternoon snacks with my mom. I missed my roomies banging on my door and demanding I go out. I even missed other people’s dirty dishes in the sink.
Here I am, living alone again, sort of. And, sometimes, it’s a little lonely, sort of.
Late at night, when I’m over-tired, under-fed and scratchy-eyed, I sit and stare at my computer screen. As if, if I stare hard enough, I will come up with a better name to google.
Last night, I did.
There he was: photos, videos, bio. My first college boyfriend. One of my best friends. We had a friendly parting, but a confused one, some ugly post-parting confrontations, but he will always be my first love, and he will always be loved by me. He is a pianist, and a good one. It is not hard, it turns out, to find him.
So, late last night, I sent him an email. To say I’m sorry that I didn’t show at your concert after we had lunch and you invited me. To say I check up on you by asking our mutual friends if you’re still alive and happy and fruitful. To say, how the hell are you, first love of my life?
Surprisingly, he replied. With only sentiments of thanks for our loving past. No hard feelings. No misplaced (or perhaps rightfully placed) anger. Just thanks.
It was really nice.
For once, my late-night online search fetish did more than just drain me of life force. It gave me something back. Something real.
Maybe this late night habit that I’m finding hard to break isn’t such a waste of time after all.
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