FMS-Blog : The Wildly Whimsical, Mostly Musical WebLog
Sunday, December 03, 2006
It Started with a Flush
“I am happy being single,” I said, “until the right person comes along, that is.”
She knew exactly what I was getting at and, in the slightly drunken haze of that moment, I almost fooled myself into believing that the perfect companion was standing right there in front of me, listening out for those subtle words that might give away the honestly painful fact that it has been her I’ve been wanting for months now. And, as we chatted and danced, and touched and glanced, and found reason to play the symphony like it were a duet, all her gestures were welcome: my weak soul sought out each one and tried in vain to capture them, each like snapshots of a sly smile, the clutching of soft fingers in the palm of a hand, or the moist heat prickling skin in the darkness of the rock club that night. This was a longing - the longing to be with this someone who I’ve always known all too well was not.. or rather, is not available.
The heart can play funny tricks and I console myself with the thought that I may well be suffering from the common male condition of wanting exactly that which I cannot have. It is convenient to play it like this because it means that I can throw my hand and be sure that I only had the 5 and 2 off-suit all along. And, it’s probably true.
But, there’s a big part of me that won’t accept inevitable defeat. This part is seductive and tempts me with the notion of calling the bluff; going all in, putting myself directly in the firing line and at least getting to see the other guy’s hand. It would all end in tears, of course, but perhaps that’s what’s most inviting about it: I’ve always been a sucker for the tragedy of unrequited love. Rather that than the safe route to mediocrity.
It’s probably uncharitable to compare this situation with a game of poker, but I think this is the way beginnings and endings often feel to be played out; almost as if who the individual players themselves are doesn’t matter as much as the way we all choose to get on with the games around us. And, yet, if it weren’t for this particular individual.. this one lovely person who is clearly so refreshingly straight-up while being extremely smart and witty, warm and caring, sensitive and undoubtedly beautiful all at the same time.. if it weren’t for these great, magnetic qualities I see in her then I wouldn’t have been bothered about being dealt in in the first place.
What I need to remember, though, is that she also has her hand to play and the community cards are not looking like they’re in my favour. I suppose I know that I’ll be throwing this hand in – why bother denying it any longer? - but, to paraphrase common romantic wisdom, there are plenty more chips at the cashier’s desk.
She knew exactly what I was getting at and, in the slightly drunken haze of that moment, I almost fooled myself into believing that the perfect companion was standing right there in front of me, listening out for those subtle words that might give away the honestly painful fact that it has been her I’ve been wanting for months now. And, as we chatted and danced, and touched and glanced, and found reason to play the symphony like it were a duet, all her gestures were welcome: my weak soul sought out each one and tried in vain to capture them, each like snapshots of a sly smile, the clutching of soft fingers in the palm of a hand, or the moist heat prickling skin in the darkness of the rock club that night. This was a longing - the longing to be with this someone who I’ve always known all too well was not.. or rather, is not available.
The heart can play funny tricks and I console myself with the thought that I may well be suffering from the common male condition of wanting exactly that which I cannot have. It is convenient to play it like this because it means that I can throw my hand and be sure that I only had the 5 and 2 off-suit all along. And, it’s probably true.
But, there’s a big part of me that won’t accept inevitable defeat. This part is seductive and tempts me with the notion of calling the bluff; going all in, putting myself directly in the firing line and at least getting to see the other guy’s hand. It would all end in tears, of course, but perhaps that’s what’s most inviting about it: I’ve always been a sucker for the tragedy of unrequited love. Rather that than the safe route to mediocrity.
It’s probably uncharitable to compare this situation with a game of poker, but I think this is the way beginnings and endings often feel to be played out; almost as if who the individual players themselves are doesn’t matter as much as the way we all choose to get on with the games around us. And, yet, if it weren’t for this particular individual.. this one lovely person who is clearly so refreshingly straight-up while being extremely smart and witty, warm and caring, sensitive and undoubtedly beautiful all at the same time.. if it weren’t for these great, magnetic qualities I see in her then I wouldn’t have been bothered about being dealt in in the first place.
What I need to remember, though, is that she also has her hand to play and the community cards are not looking like they’re in my favour. I suppose I know that I’ll be throwing this hand in – why bother denying it any longer? - but, to paraphrase common romantic wisdom, there are plenty more chips at the cashier’s desk.
