There are plenty of fish, or there is just one.
|Computers don't go in the water, so why do people fish with one. If something seems fishy, trust that it is. Lonely hearts ignore their instincts, therefore we reach for the easiest escape to fill that void. Guess common sense proves to be smarter than we give it credit for. It hides when it knows you are going to do what you want anyways, even when all the signs and flags are being cast right in your face. Next thing you know we are online talking to a sea of faces.
Twenty years old, hungry for love and a desire for fishing. You were the bite on the other side of my computer screen. Since then I’ve been determined to reel you in and just get a real look at you. All I have is the picture that you painted of what you want me to believe. You choose a unique method to keep me guessing. You tug the line in directions that is unpredictable and request unthinkable amounts of strength to keep my grip firm on this reel. It’s no wonder that I question if you are “the big one” or just an active snag in the line. All I see is a foggy underworld, and aside of my frustration I can’t help but continue to hold on.
Typically, by now people are home preparing homemade hush puppies, or preheating the stove for their frozen pizza. They no longer feel the need to stay on the lake. This girl is still here fighting the pesky water bugs, getting sun burnt and learning how to be a bold fisher-gal. How did a dream turn into tug of war? Casting out into the water, I didn’t expect this. I’m just sitting here waiting for you to give in and allow me to proudly show you off to the world.
There is a lack of actions that have caused me to doubt your intentions. You continue to lead me all around this lake, ignoring my commitment to you and only you. What is it exactly that you are doing down there? Did a new angelfish snag your attention? Why are you still tugging my line? That assumption has gradually developed throughout this fishing trip.
I have fished before, but not like this. I saw fish before, reeled them in and accepted that they weren’t keepers. Some became trophies that remind me of the tournaments that have been won. This trip has me befuddled. I don’t know what I have attached to the end of my line this time. Although I do believe the sun is starting to set finally.
After 11 years, this fishing pole has gotten to heavy for me to hold. I'm tired of only seeing a foggy pond. I'm tired of fighting for something that wont surface. I'm done reeling in endless fishing line. So I think it is time that I cut it and let it go. Maybe I will never know what was on the other end, and I believe I am finally okay with that.
I’m slowly waking up now. Sitting in a rusted hotel room chair with sappy music, my dream is written in words. Gently closing the laptop, I see who is on the other side of the computer screen. But all I can see is a bed sheet and a complete stranger sleeping underneathe. No tugging and no grip to be held, I just get up and let the stranger sleep. Probably having the same dream but refusing to wake. When they finally wake up, they’ll see my note. “Done Fishing”