This story is not new. It is not earth-shattering or mind-blowing, except on a personal level (but that is, after all, the one that matters, is it not?). This story is not new, but it is wonderful, and it happens all the time. Everywhere.

It begins with you falling in love.

This is an important bit. Not because of this love in itself. This one will get fucked up beyond recognition. Best we not stand here and stare at the trainwreck. No, this bit is important because it proves that you’re capable of the feat.

Falling in love. Completely non-intuitive emotion if I’ve ever seen one. One moment you’re wondering what all those old farts with the fucking sonnets were all about. Next thing you know, you’re talking in haikus and delivering red roses by the truckload.

It will turn a man into an idiot, it will.

It is wonderful, too.

So it ends, and you get over it. And you start looking again. Looking. For it. For HER.

Now, you may think you are not a picky person. You may believe that finding that special someone who’ll make you happy is a snap. Just go down the street, turn left at the fruit market, enter the girlfriend shop and order one with everything, right?

I want a compulsive reader who’s a bit bossy and rather kinky, with a smile that’ll put the night sky out’ve a job and skin so sweet you’d spread it over pancakes… oh, yes, the one next to the celery. She’ll do just fine, thank you.”

Oh, you may think you’ll have to settle for a different eye color than you wanted (“you don’t have that in hazel, then? Well, how about a bluish hue?”). You may think that a few compromises will have to be made, a few qualifications left unmet, but that’s ok. It’ll be a snap.

Think again.

After the first failed relationship you pat yourself in the back, chug along and mutter encouragingly to yourself: “no worries, mate, it’s just us, getting back on the wagon, bound to break a few eggs along the way, no?”.

After the third failed relationship you start doubting, just a bit.

After the fifth one, you realize there’s something horribly wrong with this. Something’s amiss. You’re no longer on the lookout for the perfect girl, then. You’d be rather comfy with someone just similar to your dreamgirl.

After your seventh failed relationship tries to stab you, you jump to the conclusion that you’d do just fine with someone this side of the loony bin.

And after the eleventh, and twelfth, and thirteenth, you’re just about fed up with the whole thing. About to give up hope. This is where you decide that you’re better off alone, and start up the path of the sarcastic loner. After all, who knows? there might just be a writing career there, no? I hear Dostoievsky was fucking miserable…

And of course, this is when you meet her.

And she’s perfect. She’s everything you ever wanted, and she’s everything you ever needed, and all you never thought you would find. And it literally takes your breath away every time she walks into the room (which leads to a few uncomfortable situations until you write “remember to breathe” on the back of your hand).

And, for the sake of this story (which has happened, happens and will happen all the time, everywhere), let’s assume that you manage to convince this woman, this amazing human being that being with you is actually a good idea. Let’s assume that she’s enthused by it, even. Let’s assume you’re the happiest you’ve been in oh, what is it… forever?

And it’s great.

Of course, at one point this girl, well she drops by your website, and performs a vanity search on herself. And she finds nothing. Of course. This is the website you’ve been running through your past… what? three relationships? Without dropping so much as a hint about them in it, too. This is the website.

But she is THE girl.

And suddenly you realize that you don’t want to keep this quiet. You want to shout it to the world and holler at the stars. And you want to scream, and you want to let everyone know.

So you write a little story. Nothing fancy. Nothing new. And it happens all the time, everywhere.

Except it’s never happened to you.

Her name is Livier, and I’m falling in love with her.

— sergio on March 23, 2005