Can you believe that it has been exactly one year since the commencement of this blog. I’ve saved this date for about two weeks so that I can basically say, happy one year anniversary.
I think that is all that I was waiting to say, yet I’m sure I can find more words in my brain to talk about. Hm, let me think.
In my First Official Blog Post, I said that I wanted to spit my thoughts at you which, I feel I have done successfully? Maybe not a literal spit, but I feel as though I could spit if I wanted to…maybe this metaphor has gone a little too far. Don’t mind me, I’m just trying compose myself in a half-hearted manner.
Now, would there be any way better to commemorate the Paper Anniversary of the blog than with a story? Come on, gather round the fire place, under blankets in the cold January weather, and get ready for a love like no other read to you from a screen.
Two people, one year, one memory.
A love story is not only a cliché, not only a platitude, but it is realism. A realistic account of a couple together, for a year, where the Paper can be ripped in wait for the Tin at Ten, and for the China at Twenty.
It cannot be expressed enough that paper is just simply the shreds of a tree. You can write on paper, fold up paper, cut paper to make a beautiful snowflake. The one-year anniversary of your child’s first sight of snow. The one-year anniversary of when they began to walk, even if it was slow. And, most of all, the celebration is nigh, so that you can preach to the world, I feel like I can fly forever. If you last a year, you can last a lifetime – let this stand as a quote for the love story cliché of the year.
Two people walk down a street. Hand in hand. They are going back to where they met. Their first meeting was at a store, a clothes store for sure, where they were both looking for the same dress. Of course, the man was not shopping for himself – he was shopping for his girlfriend at the time, who was, in his words, just another white girl. He said this to his wife – although, she was just a stranger at the time – when she reached for the dress, as just another white girl. The man apologised, and apologised, and they really started to get along! But then, at that moment…his girlfriend came, coincidentally of course.
His girlfriend began to shout, shout to the heavens, as one would if enraged:
‘I can’t believe you would do this!’ said she, like she was caught in a cage. It was as though she was trying to struggle out between bars, but her head got so stuck she was not going anywhere for a while.
When she finally escaped, the old couple were over. But the new couple – the papery couple, now – were suddenly the clichéd, oversensitive, unglamorous couple that anyone could detect anywhere in the world.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my rendition of Why Love Stories Should Never Be Told. And, the reason why they should be trapped inside boxes is, and if you were reading really closely, you will find that no couple ever meets in an interesting way, and trying to make it interesting makes it become even more tedious.
Happy Paper, everybody. My blog and I met under the conditions that if I pay whatever-I-pay a month I can type these words that you read. That is the extent of our relationship agreement.