Being away from your loved one for an extended period of time seems to have profound effects on your psyche. I know that now – I’m living proof. The examples are plentiful and varied: For some reason, I only fall asleep nowadays when I’m hugging a big, fluffy pillow – and whenever I order a burger, the usual ham feels woefully inadequate next to the crispy bacon I remember from my trips to the State. Aaah, bacon.
But most of all, I have become hypersensitive to happiness.
Don’t look at me like that, it’s not all happiness that makes me shudder and close my eyes shut and lalalalala, this isn’t reality, lalalalala. But the merry couples that walk hand in hand all around me, and laugh and kiss and generally make a spectacle of themselves? I react to them as a vampire would to a tanning bed: complete and utter disgust. Suddenly, everyone but me is with someone, and having an awesome time of it. Bah! Humbug!
And it’s not just the couples in the street, oh no. It’s all around me, all the time. Every single movie trailer has a beautiful people starring in a stupid love story, even in dramas, even in horror movies. And wherever love takes a backseat for once, naked women just assault me from every cardinal direction, pouring out of my monitor like lies from an economist’s mouth. True story.
So here I wait, embittered and alone, for my chance to join the happy crowd once again, and ruin some poor bastard’s day with Leta’s and mine shameless kisses, our nudges and winks and injokes, and her smiles that say that, together, we’re a lot more than two.