Complications

I guess somethings never change.

"I've never met the girl. She doesn't sound like much fun, though," he says. I can here typing in the background.
"What are you doing?"
"Drafting a proposal to merge two banks in England. What are you doing?" he asks. I half-smile. In years previous, Raj would never have told me what he was doing specifically. He'd say 'working' or 'typing' or something. I can see how Rachel has changed him. I want to ask him about her, I want to say I want to ask him badly, but that somehow feels weird to say. I decide not to and hope he will not notice.

"I'm moping. She made a good looking cake," I said.
"Jennifer, you make good looking cakes all the time. The fact that she made one nice cake has no bearing on that. Not even a little," he says slowly. He's stopped typing.

"You're right. I know that. I guess sometimes I just get tired of feeling less than perfect," I said.

"Get used to it. No one is," he says. I am silent. "You are someone's idea of perfect though...you do know that, don't you?" To love the imperfect person perfectly...it rings through my ears like a bell.

Love isn't enough sometimes. Or maybe it's that I've only known the wrong sort of love, the selfish nasty kind which doesn't understand the concept of imperfection. I don't know, and to tell you the truth, I don't much care anymore. I read over my old blogs and I get tired. Tired of trying to explain why two people out of 6 billion currently living and God knows how many dead are not together. The past should never out-serve its purpose. And I don't need to figure out the past to get it right in the future. Whoever told me that was the biggest liar ever.

We say our goodbyes and within minutes, I'm chatting with Sagar, letting my frustrations spill over into half-sentences tensed with my frustration at some unknown. And he calls me perfect. And it occurs to me that all I really want is to be perfect to someone in just one or two ways. Someone I love.

No complications.