Everybody has their own story. It is a simple fact. The sad thing about us, men and women of the world, is that we honestly believe our very own story could be turned into a book or a movie (or both, for some). Well, the truth is, would you read your own story? Would you watch something you know what, how, when, why and where it happened?
This can also be applied to the stories of the REAL people we just don't know. Reality, as it is, is boring. However, when we read something we know for a fact that is impossible, it becomes far more appealing. You see, it is far more entertaining to dream about something that might never happen than to accept that real people have real lives, and real love stories, for that matter.
My point is, would Frank Sinatra's songs be so wonderfully romantic had they been written for your best friend? The answer, obviously, is no! In the case that happened, you would probably laugh while dying of jealousy inside.
In order to understand the story I begin today, you have to pretend it is ficticious (for if you don't, you will be terribly bored, as I have just explained). Play some vintage music such as "Bye, Bye, Blackbird". Dance to it; slowly, so painfully slowly you are aware of every single one of your movements. Lit a cigarrette, one won't hurt. Pour yourself a drink and find that status of complete and absolute relax.
Vintage music does the job for me. It is in one of this moments, while listening to Sinatra, that I decided to write this letter, or two, or three. What the heck! I could even write a book if I wanted to!
On St. Valentine's eve, it occured to me that I have always dream of a knight riding a white horse to my rescue. He would be caring, respectful, perfect. Our song would be "It had to be you", by my beloved Sinatra, and he would propose in one of those social clubs in London or Manhattan.
As you might have assumed, my knight has not appeared yet, but this is a tale of all the toads that tried to replace him.
The first one? His name is G, and he is from my hometown, Palma.
Mr G and I met in this city one cold afternoon, but I'll tell you the full story next Sunday, once this romantic frenzy is gone and forgotten.
Miss me a bit, xx
This can also be applied to the stories of the REAL people we just don't know. Reality, as it is, is boring. However, when we read something we know for a fact that is impossible, it becomes far more appealing. You see, it is far more entertaining to dream about something that might never happen than to accept that real people have real lives, and real love stories, for that matter.
My point is, would Frank Sinatra's songs be so wonderfully romantic had they been written for your best friend? The answer, obviously, is no! In the case that happened, you would probably laugh while dying of jealousy inside.
In order to understand the story I begin today, you have to pretend it is ficticious (for if you don't, you will be terribly bored, as I have just explained). Play some vintage music such as "Bye, Bye, Blackbird". Dance to it; slowly, so painfully slowly you are aware of every single one of your movements. Lit a cigarrette, one won't hurt. Pour yourself a drink and find that status of complete and absolute relax.
Vintage music does the job for me. It is in one of this moments, while listening to Sinatra, that I decided to write this letter, or two, or three. What the heck! I could even write a book if I wanted to!
On St. Valentine's eve, it occured to me that I have always dream of a knight riding a white horse to my rescue. He would be caring, respectful, perfect. Our song would be "It had to be you", by my beloved Sinatra, and he would propose in one of those social clubs in London or Manhattan.
As you might have assumed, my knight has not appeared yet, but this is a tale of all the toads that tried to replace him.
The first one? His name is G, and he is from my hometown, Palma.
Mr G and I met in this city one cold afternoon, but I'll tell you the full story next Sunday, once this romantic frenzy is gone and forgotten.
Miss me a bit, xx
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