We met through a friend in a manner that would make Posthumans proud: via the intriguingly diverse world of the internet. It was a classic romance storyline: boy meets boy on a virtual RPG game, boy meets boy in real life, they eat Chipotle together and, as it turns out, boy really likes boy.
It took us a long time to actually meet due to that over 4,000 mile distance between us, which is a little more than the longest distance ever swam by man. I really like you, boy in question, but I don’t think the feeling is strong enough to defy typical human water treading ability. When we did finally meet in person, it was really special.
We’d spoken for a while. I knew how you looked and I knew of some of your personality, but I truly got to know you when I finally met you in person. You seemed really nice; you were cute, charming, maybe a little shy, but I liked that. You came down to my place, we watched movies and we cuddled up close. We explored Charleston--my home--though only for a little while as walking is tiring and not as cool as skateboarding (and because the giant hot orb in the sky hurt my eyes).
Then, later, I got to spend time with you for a lot longer in your little abode in the spacious, mountainous countryside where land is plentiful and spacious, not many other houses around. It was peaceful and quiet, what with it being winter and all; there were no distractions from sirens or people loudly conversing.
There, we hung out together, played games, watched movies and just acted goofy together. We snuggled up and watched T.V., or would hold each other just to be together. It was perfect. You truly left a mark on me, and I for you, although quite literally because I stained the ceiling with smoke after I almost set fire to your house.
(Please, dear reader, know that I wasn’t up to some sort of mischief or tomfoolery, unless you consider making a vegan chicken recipe sinister because in that case I was most definitely taking part in a dastardly ritual.)
Just as you arrived, you said it smelled like something was burning. Usually, that could be a cute little joke about someone’s cooking ability, but instead it was because the pan was literally on fire. “Oh,” I said, as I grabbed the crude Olympic Torch and put it in the sink, doing so because I was an uneducated nonce and didn’t know what to do with a pan of flames. When you added water to it to help put it out, we witnessed a wonderful display that caressed the cupboard above in a burst of flames. I still had my eyebrows, but your cupboards no longer had their paint as the fire stood before us.
Fires are bad: The Sims taught me that. Putting a rug by a fireplace was a no-no, and, evidently, the same applies if you switched fireplace with stove, and rug with me. Also, fires are fucking terrifying. Perhaps it’s because we’re facing physics and nature at its true full force--something we submit ourselves to as human beings. We are so used to be being in control of our environment. A fire is unpredictable, loud, bright and deadly: when you witness one, you realize Sims are frightened because that's reasonable. Thankfully, you grabbed the extinguisher and put it out, and the only thing that failed to survive was the kitchen towels and likely a few microbes.
I suggest one try another method of leaving a lasting impression on another person: perhaps a well-written poem or an act of kindness--items which fail to provide actual stains on one’s furnishings.
Joking aside, what mattered a lot to me in that situation was how you responded. Naturally, I was a little upset with myself; I aim to make my food lit, but not literally. You just said you were glad we were OK. I mean, I was too, but my guilt lingered. I’m one of those types that hold onto their guilt to the point where it becomes unnecessary, but it’s this urge to somehow make up for what you’ve done even though you really can’t, and it’s a shitty feeling. But you reassured me that it would be fine. You stopped me from over-complicating it. We went out to get food not coated in ashes and extinguisher chemicals, and you made sure I was OK. Thank you for that.
It wasn’t easy saying goodbye. It didn’t help that it was 4 a.m. when I had to do so, my brain a combination of dazed and sad. To leave was a snap back into reality that I just had to face. Usually, I just hide my tears because I hate people seeing me cry, but with you I felt comfortable being myself. In that moment, I didn’t feel the need to hide how I felt. Hugging you was always pleasant and comforting; you’re a lot taller than me, so I can lay my head against you. But after this moment, after I let go, I would be leaving that warmth for a lot longer. I didn’t want to leave that comfort you provided me. I still miss it.
God, it’s cliche, but I feel like we have a connection. You mean a whole lot to me. We’re going to be far apart again after college is over, and it’s going to hurt a lot, but if a psychic lady in Baltimore said I would be meeting the love of my life in the U.S., perhaps this will work out. Either that, or I wasted five bucks.
It seems our interest in each other goes beyond the shared appreciation of fast food chains (which is when you know it means something). Despite a love of burritos indicating a true connection with another human being, we appear to have a little more going for us: our shared love of video games, our similar political views and--something extremely special--our ability to be ourselves around each other. What I have truly appreciated is being able to be my silly self around you. We can find humor in the oddest places, in typically unrelated times, but we know when that needs to subside for seriousness. Whenever I'm with you, I feel so close to you, and I know it's what I want.
I’m hoping this will all work out. You're someone I can see myself being with, and while I can’t predict the future, I sure as hell hope that you will be part of mine. I really, really like you.
Also, sorry about almost burning your house down.