It was a few years ago. His name was Frank. Her name was Annalise. These are fake names, of course. But the incident was very real. On my newsfeed, I saw she posted a sketch of something she drew. He was an artist as well; a painter. He made a remark in the comment section about how talented she was. I had no idea they knew each other. Especially not well enough to make comments on each other's photos. Evidently, I was mistaken.
A few days later, I remembered the comment on her post. As intrigued as I was, I typed her name into the search bar and saw there was an exchange of comments between the two. She thanked him and threw a compliment his way, saying his paintings were of talent, as well. He came back with something flirtatious and offered to message her. She obliged.
The public conversation ended just like that. I wanted, no, no, I needed to know more. What happened after they spoke? What did they talk about? How well do they know each other?
I. Was. Flabbergasted.
Because who sits on Facebook commenting on random people's pictures, hoping to get their number out of the gig?
But at the same time, who sits on Facebook and stalks an intriguing conversation?
About three months later, guess who was in a "Facebook official" relationship? Frank and Annalise.
For three years on my newsfeed, I saw their artistic dates and debates, all public to the eyes of Facebook. They painted together with pastels and watercolors. For three years they entered their art into contests. They ate strawberries and walked on the beach. For three years this was on my Facebook feed, and I was intrigued.
Because who can say they had the strange opportunity of watching love unfurl?
The same person who can say they watched the same relationship fall to pieces.
They stopped posing in pictures together. He discontinued his art. She began painting, when all she did was sketch on her own; she used his inspirations.
I'm not sure why they broke up. Their break up was as private as their first conversation behind the blue curtains of Facebook's messages.
It was all so strange. The beginning, the middle, and the end. Everything that showed up on my Facebook feed was an experience for both them and myself. They got a relationship and a break up out of it. They had the experience of an artistic, challenging love. With a powerful break up to follow. And I got to follow their story, not by choice, but because Facebook slapped it on my feed, allowing myself the great pleasure of writing about it one day.