Writing a Love Story

I’m writing a love story. Yes, I know. Me. My own love story was of the unconventional sort, so the love story I’m writing follows a similar pattern, in that it’s unconventional. And yet it’s written in the most conventional of ways.

See, it starts with a girl. Don’t all love stories start with a girl? Well, a woman really. She’s trying to discover herself after a hard breakup with the man she thought was the love of her life.

Then there’s a boy. You knew there would be a boy. Actually, he’s a man. And he’s a bit stunted emotionally, so he’s a perfect match for a woman trying to get her feet wet in the shallow end after coming up for air after a long swim. Or maybe he’s not.

And I’m their best friend, the one who they both call after their dates to beg for insight. I’m the one who defines the lines they will and will not cross in their relationship, and I often wonder why I get to have that much power. But they’re both awkward when it comes to new love, and new people in general.

Speaking of new people, they both have new people in their lives who may or may not be obstacles to their eternal happiness. Any real story can’t be easy from start to finish, can it? There always have to be bumps along the road the lovers have to slow down for, to try and get around. Of course other people aren’t the only possible roadblocks in the path of new love, and there are plenty of others as well, like a possible job promotion, and the doubting of basic principles.

Then there’s deception — some intentional and some accidental, but both with dire consequences. What’s a good love story without some misunderstandings that lead to the lovers “taking a break”? Hopefully they’ll get back together by the end of the tale, and these misunderstandings aren’t monumental enough to shatter their faith in each other. Every good love story deserves a marriage, a happily ever after.

But some love stories don’t have happy endings. They burn brightly for a small period of time, then live on after that as only ashes that get scattered in the wind. And I’m not yet at the end.

Sam