Moriarty’s catchphrase is also a recurring thought in every anxious lover’s mind.
“Do you think he misses me the way I miss him?” “Does he even think about me as many times I think of him?”
The simple, monosyllabic answer is “No.”
The longer answer is, “Naah, he doesn’t think about you the way you do. And that’s okay. Because within a span of four months (or even less) you’ll stop thinking about him the way you do.”
Don’t believe me? Let me give you an example.
Not a real one, of course.
This story starts when I was in the ninth grade. I was gifted a music player for winning the city-level finale of a popular Spelling Bee. I went home, and within a week’s time figured how to use it. I uploaded all my favourite songs in it. I purchased brand new earphones to match the awesomeness of the new music player. And I carried it along with me wherever I went. For a walk? It’s with me. For a study session? Yep, it’s right there next to my stack of sharpened pencils and assorted collection of pens.
After ninth grade, the most important SSC Boards arrived. I carried my music player along with me to classes. My friends (Or should I use the correct term, classmates, because I didn’t have friends in that grade) were jealous of the awesome music player I had. They had to struggle to keep all their favourite songs on their phone, amid the warnings of “Internal storage / SD Card storage is full”. Whereas I could use my phone for awesome stuff and not worry about storage issues. Because my music player had a storage of 2GB (which was a lot, back in 2013).
In 11th grade, I moved from a tiny school into a ginormous college. I was scared, worried and anxious. But I had my friend along with me there too. I had affectionately started calling it Blue, and my family caught up with this new terminology pretty quick. (Why Blue? Because the music player was coloured blue, dodo)
In 12th grade, as I saw my friends desert me one after another, only one stayed. It comforted me and made me feel happy even when there was nothing to be happy about.
In 13th grade, when I started making decisions which would affect the rest of my life and my career, Blue gave me the calm, non-judgemental solace I needed.
In 14th grade, I started worrying. The music player had worked its magic for five years, and still showed no sign of damage. Except the rusted USB thingy. But that was okay. It still worked as good as new.
At the start of the 15th grade, I started panicking. What if something happened to Blue? What if the USB thingy gets permanently damaged and can’t be resuscitated back to life? What would I do then? Would I have to be an ordinary mortal and STORE SONGS ON MY PHONE? NO WAY!
And then, the inevitable happened. One day, Blue stopped and exhaled his last musical note. And died. After 5.5 years of awesome companionship.
I was inconsolable. I tried everything to get it back to life, short of getting it admitted to a hospital.
I was angry. Why did Blue have to leave me like this? Didn’t Blue know that there were so many more obstacles I needed to cross, and I needed Blue by my side to do so?
And then, gradually, without realising it, I started listening to music on YouTube. I don’t even remember adapting to this new necessity of not locking my phone while listening to music. I don’t even remember the irritation I faced while waiting for songs to stream while travelling in local trains.
And now, as of today, I stream music via Wynk. (Someone should pay me for writing this post, seriously). I have already transferred most of my YouTube music playlists into Wynk. I’m even contemplating subscribing to the service next year.
And today, I realised, that I hadn’t even thought about Blue once. I had gone on to live the rest of my life, accepting the loss of a trusted friend and a loyal guardian. And that, is what inspired today’s insane post.
Need I say anything more? Do you think you still “can’t live without him”? If yes, I invite you to read and reread the above post till you understand all the metaphors I’ve hidden, and then move on from whichever d*****bag you’re currently fixated on.