The Ideal Lover

I probably would've attempted suicide too if I lost someone with whom I can just do this.

I always said that love would be so much easier if I could find someone who's just like me. Someone who listens to same music as I do. Someone who likes to watch reality shows just as much as a serious drama with long pauses and a bunch of award nominations associated with it. It would be a lot easier if it's with someone who likes to read the same stuff I do. It would've been the best thing in the world to be with someone who mirrors you; whom you don't have to try so hard to relate because you can even guess how his mind works and complete his sentences when he's nose deep into something that he's reading.

And then I met you. Like I won the lottery. Seven billion people on the planet, and I found you.

The world wide web is a mysterious place, but I found you. I befriended you anywhere you are on the internet until you recognize me. This is the most ideal way to find a soulmate, I told myself. This is how you could easily find out if someone is compatible with you. You like the same things, talk the same way, and you think the way I do. I'm impressed. I found you.

You.

The taller, darker, skinnier version me. With a dick.

I guess I proved my theory right because it was so easy to love you. It was so easy to imagine how to spend the rest of the time--not just my life--with you. We could always just step into a cafe, murmur the song they played and found out that we've loved that song since high school. We could list down the movies we've watched for the umpteenth time and the movies we couldn't wait to see and most of them matched. We could just sit down on the sofa, reading the books we recommend to each other and loving it--because we love the same things and we never had to guess what the other person is going to like. If you like it, I'll like it. And I didn't even have to lie.

But everyone has issues, and ours is self-loathing. I hate myself every now and then, here and there, that was also mirrored in you. I hate you because you remind me of myself, and I remind you of some parts of yourself you are still not at peace with. We are dealing with the same issues and we don't know how to cure it.

It's too late now to leave. You are stuck with me and I am stuck with you. Seven billion people on the planet, and I have to be stuck with you. 

I still know you well. I know when you will be hungry, when you will need some fresh air and sit on the back porch, reading that lousy Tolstoy book you brought to our first meeting. I know when you will call me and ask if it was time for you to feed the dogs, or trim the bonsai trees, or make an afternoon tea. I still know you very well.

I just didn't know when you start losing me, or I'm losing you, and now it was all just a story of make believe.