Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

It all started with Casper momentarily becoming a real life boy and getting to dance with the girl of his dreams, Christina Ricci: flying the flag for all of us with a larger than average sized forehead. That was the first time I ever remember bawling at something fictional – I knew it wasn’t real but I couldn’t bear the thought of Casper finally getting everything he’d ever dreamed of and cruelly having it snatched away from him just a moment later. Since that moment I’ve been the kind of person who cries at adverts involving children with cancer and watches depressing films when I feel sad just so I can wallow in my misery. As much as I try to be sassy and sarcastic, deep down I’m a fucking sap. 

This past weekend I decided to delve into dangerous territory, even for someone as emotionally self-indulgent as me: taking a look through my memory box. Everyone has one – mine has penguins on the front and contained inside is all of the standard memorabilia: photos, cinema tickets, letters, and leaflets from some terrible club-night I never ended up going to. As I sat alone in my room, sifting through every memory with my friends and ex-boyfriends something strange began to happen – I missed it all.

Every bad memory from every previous relationship seemed insignificant in comparison to the poetry, photos and letters I was gazing a whilst in my Fall Out Boy induced haze. Suddenly, I was sixteen again and filled with regret at relationships that I’d ended too quickly and found myself wondering where I’d be now if I’d done things differently. After all: who needs respect, stability and a sense of humour when you have romantic love letters? 

Luckily, I’m not quite as naive as I was at the age of 5, wishing that Casper could be with his one true love: Christina probably danced the night away with some prick in her science class the night after that. Even the best of us are guilty of romanticizing the past and remembering experiences as sweeter than they were when you lived through them. Perhaps it’s time to throw away the fuel to my overly-sentimental fire and concentrate on my life in the present: beer, nachos and reality television.


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