ghosts of relationships past

Forewarning: i wrote this about 4 years ago (which explains the somewhat dated pop culture references), but, i still find it kind of relevant nonetheless. enjoy.

One brainless, drunken, first-semester-freshmen-year, dorm-dwelling night my friend-with-benefits and I traced our feet on the ceiling above my top bunk in Sharpie marker before a sloppy (and also stupid) make-out session. I awoke the next morning thinking two things: would the world stop spinning already, and what a great idea to chronicle my year right above my bed.

What I failed to think of was that Sharpie markers were permanent, and for the rest of the year I would open and close my eyes to the harsh reality of my drunken blunders and failed relationships.

For all of first semester I diligently detailed my, mostly drunken, escapades with “Bill” (my friend-with-benefits) on my ceiling. At first it was great. I went to sleep each night dreaming of the flirty fun I’d been having, but that soon changed When our hooking up became too “emotionally involving” we called it quits, but I still had some unresolved feelings looming, literally above my head.

The ghosts of Bill Black past were haunting me. They were blatantly staring me in the face; and, at night, lit by the dim neon glow of my alarm clock, my mistakes and misfortunes seemed all around me.

When I courageously marked my ceiling with footprints so many nights ago I failed to realize that college flings are often just that – fleeting flings. While I didn’t profess my love by painting the wall on 34th Street, I did ink up my one sacred area in dorm living and paid the price by closing my eyes each night to the cringe of my ravaged rendezvous.

Angelina Jolie knows how I feel. At one point she paraded her love by permanently tattooing her sweeties name on her sculpted upper arm. She told Entertainment Weekly that getting ‘Billy Bob’ lasered-off of her bicep, “doesn’t hurt much more than getting the tattoo in the first place. It just hurts in a totally different sort of way.”

Like St. Angelina before me, I covered up my scars. Back to being buds, Bill and I painted over our now prehistoric fling after spring finals. We even took pictures of the ceiling’s diary-like entries. After all, you do need keepsakes of some memories, and the kind that can be closed up in a photo album are always a safer bet.

While paint and little laser work can remove the remains of a rotting romance, the sting of seeing those reminders, even for a little while, can jerk at your heart and mess with your mind.

The point – Sharpie markers are permanent, most co-ed cuddling is not.