I have a long-distance love affair with a place I’ve never been to. She is the second such love – I finally met my other fantasy, the lust was confirmed and we have sworn to do it again when I raise enough money.
But this one… it’s becoming obsessive. I dream about her; I read about her; I write her love letters and look longingly at her photos. Surely it can only end badly, can’t it? The reality can never live up to expectation? And yet, I think it will.
We have the same initials, so it is bound to be a match made in heaven. And yet, I am nearly a 100 years too late – it is her 1920s heyday I lust after.
What is to become of us? She can’t come here; I can only go to her (wasn’t it always thus?) It will be fleeting, however long, it won’t be long enough. She will leave me wanting more, I know it, she has that look about her. Will it be a torrid long weekend? Or the start of incessant back and forth, balancing jetlag with pleasure, duty with joy, and an ever dwindling bank balance; but then it’s ‘only money’ as you used to say, there is always more can be made.
I am hopeful of a meeting soon – before the summer is out, but other things have a habit of intervening like the annoying interruption of a third party just as the screen lovers are about to kiss…