Sadest thing ever...

Coming back to London after blissful 10 days in Zagreb, which were not even blemished by my father being difficult...in fact, he happily shared his computer with me, allowed me to use internet any time of day ( although I must add that I took that offer with certain mistrust and never spent more than 5 minutes online at any one time should I lose my life ), left me half of his ‘Milka’ with hazelnuts (which differs in price from the cheaper brand by at least 50 pence ) most days and he willingly took us to a new mega shopping centre without us begging, pleading and threatening to take a cab...I was tired and miserable, having flown with Wizz air, the quality Hungarian airline that looks more like a bad ‘One’ train that connects the city with the depths of Essex ( I swear to God, I actually saw a seat missing upon boarding )...
Waiting patiently at Luton for the shuttle bus to arrive and take me to Luton airport train station, which is conveniently situated away from Luton airport...I encountered following scene; a man in his forties, shamelessly cavorting with a woman, whose front was not visible to me...
His eyes would not look away from her and they held hands and talked quietly and kissed...but not just kissed, really kissed, you know...the kind of kissing you do when you are kissing the love of your life that is about to die or something.
Already this scene was disturbing me in a most bizarre fashion. It is bad enough seeing a teenager doing that to his girlfriend, the inanity of youth, when everything is pure and effortless, life ahead laden with ideals that await your arrival, the belief that you are destined to be together forever totally understood and contained and contented...but to see a man, a handsome man, well dressed man, in his early forties or late thirties doing just that very same thing was simply deviant.
I quickly calculated that the woman must be very young and devastatingly pretty, having only seen her back, and that this man is surely hitting that delicate ‘middle age crisis’ period when all men go a bit mad and those that don’t find 23 year old waitress get themselves a Porsche and a hair colourist.
But this man’s hair wasn’t coloured and he was waiting for the shuttle so my bet was on the 23 year old thing...
But then the woman turned around and she was his age if not older, and I quickly estimated that he was even slightly out of her league...
And this is when the most poignant thing of all occurred. The handsome man leaned towards the blond woman for what I thought was going to be a kiss on a cheek, but instead he leaned close to her ear and whispered: “I love you.”
I am not sure exactly why this made me really sad but it did. The fact that I have no one that special in my life right now and that is probably all I truly want...the fact that I don’t even believe anymore that this kind of thing is possible at my age, that all of us are doomed to settle for someone with whom life is comfortable or easy or bearable...the fact that I am trying to get myself to accept that notion but failing miserably at that task...
And this thing made me instantaneously mourn all sorts of things...the fact that my best friend lives in Croatia and we have these moments that go too quickly, the fact that I have not once made it to Karla’s birthday because it falls away from known holidays and my usual holiday time, the fact that I broke those blue glasses, which I adored exceptionally, the fact that I am finding it really easy to live with human loss now because I have experienced if a few times and it is almost a norm now even though it makes me really inconsolable, the fact that I only now realise many subtle things and human dynamics that I should have known and utilised couple of years or so ago...the fact that my cat now hates me because I gave him away to a better home because he was depressed because I was never home, the fact that some of the best moments of my life happened with a person that is no longer in my life...the fact that I will one day lose my dad, the fact that I met, at the airport coming back to London, a boy that was once in love with me when we were 14, who wrote me a novel about the way we met, which included a graph with an axis of dates and one with his joy measurement, showing a plummeting curve in his joy through the day I went out with his best friend. He gave this to one of my friends to give to me...and I realised in that moment that was probably the most beautiful and original love letter I have ever had...
We said hello to each other and he remembered me instantly, even my surname.

I made a New Year resolution that this year will be all about making an effort with men again and so far I managed one ‘one night stand’ with a boy that told me when we were kissing on my bed; “I fantasised about you all week.” and all I could think of was that I fantasised about having sex all week and it was never really about him at all...and B laughed when she asked me what his name was and I had to think for a moment, which I now find slightly sad...without regretting very good sex though, but none the less sad because it is not the kind of sex I want...with a stranger and without any meaningful connection. And not forgetting the library boy, who at 40 is still a boy and not a man. One of the avid blog readers said I should make it clear the library boy story is over...and I guess it is. I really cannot see anything of true importance coming out of that because I made myself not want anything further to do with it. It would have been adequate as a quick investment but never as a long-term plan that comes with a kind of pension that I want. If I could operate on my head and change the way things are in there I would, but as I cannot do that, I am slave to my ideals and there is nothing I can do about that but move away from people that remind me that it does exist...that elusive thing that I want.