I once used to keep a photo of this girl I loved with me. Of course, I didn't have her permission, or ask. But I kept it because, because why, because I believed I had the right to keep it. I believed I had the right to look at it every once in a while, to give in to the longing I had to be the object of her gaze, her wonderful, enchanting grin. For her to be mine, in a quiet, solitary moment which no one could take away from me. In a way, I needed it, I needed to possess, to hold, to own, I needed that moment to be mine. Just a god damn photo, but for some reason having it was more valuable than the cost, the shame of keeping something like that, and how silly it really was. Such idleness! And yet I can still remember her face, her grin, without closing my eyes. Every bit of it. So beautiful, she! And would that it tugs no longer at my heart strings.
It's a memory that hasn't resurfaced for so long. I've forgotten it until today. Just now I found a girl's photo that reminded me of that photo, not framed the same, but it brought up the memory, the thought of it, my desire, in just the same way. Oh god, to feel love again, so much longing; I'm not sure I believed it.
I tell myself all the time, to varying degrees of ironic chastisement, that hope springs eternal in the bosom of man. It's funny, and it helps me to laugh in my solitary moments, to get over being defeated. Hope springs eternal! Oh, lord, just a chance.
