Storied Lives


I like to think of the people I have known as stories and, if I live a storied life than it is populated by those who have come and gone. Where many of these have been succinct short stories, you were an unfinished novella. When I left, you refused to say goodbye and asked me to wait. You promised you would prove that we could last if I would give you one last chance. I still own a set of cutlery you bought in those final days as a promise that one day we would share a home together. Weeks turned into months and I waited for you to follow through on your side of the promise, but you never did. Your story became the unfinished project that never left the back of my mind. I would take out the letters and photos sometimes, but I could never overcome the writer’s block. You denied me my ending and it drives me crazy, to this day.

I learned about something called the “ubi sunt” motif in my Medieval Literature class this semester. It is taken from a Latin phrase and used to mean something along the lines of “where are those who were before us?” Your story came to my mind as I am bound to a curiosity about where a person I once loved has ended up. Are you happier now? Do you still write poetry? Do you still work at the convenience store that I used to skip class to walk to with my best friend in high school? It all makes me think about the transience of life and relationships. Someone I know today could be a distant memory tomorrow and that is the nature of a storied life. Where some are beginning, others are drawing to a close. I am no stranger to this cycle and I have had my fair share of unhappy endings. You, however, were not the kind of story that ended in the way that makes a reader throw the book against a wall in frustrated sorrow.

Your story was littered with moments of childish joy and broken hearts. My old blog is a testament to this, documenting your story as it intertwined with mine. It was painful in parts but worth the read. Your story was a roller coaster of emotions and I was personally invested in it all the way. I rooted for you, as the main character, when your world was bleak and full of plot holes. If there was one thing I wanted for you, it was your happy ending. I never really thought that it would be me that would give that to you, but I hoped that some wonderfully geeky girl would come and push you to the potential that I always claimed you had.

It’s been over two years now since I left and you should know that I still carry your story with me. It is a security blanket of sorts, a reminder in the darker nights that someone once thought I was worth writing about. When all I hear is insults and corrections about who I am, I remember the compliments you gave me so freely. You gave me something to write about for a good two years of my life and I never really thanked you for that. I hold your memory close as a light in a life that grows progressively more bleak. Yet, I know that I need to put your story back on the shelf and move on to different literary pursuits.

It is this need for closure that has me taking the loose threads of where our stories crossed and finishing something that should have ended years ago. Writing about you one last time is my way of finally letting go. You never let me have the ending that I deserved as a dedicated reader. This is why I am writing my own ending to your story and giving myself the closure that you never permitted me. This is the conclusion and there will be no sequel.