Calum McSwiggan

P.S. I Love You

In Eat, Gay, Love on May 19, 2012 at 10:25 am

Gay Love

‘Don’t be afraid to love again. Open your heart and follow where it leads you, and remember, shoot for the moon.

P.S, I will always love you’

– Cecelia Ahern

This time last year I was getting ready to depart for Italy to teach English to kids- my ex-boyfriend had only just proposed to me though, and I felt incredibly bad about leaving him behind. To remedy this guilt I decided to pretend I was in a movie.

I took up a pretend gun, fashioned myself some outfits that resembled those from Miss Congeniality, and ran around my flat diving behind the sofa and yelling Sandra Bullock quotes- and before I knew it, I’d completely forgotten what was bothering me.

And then I made the mistake of sitting down to watch P.S. I Love You.

Usually I’m not a fan of chick-flicks or rom-coms, but I couldn’t even get through the opening scenes without blubbing hysterically into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. The premise is that an attractive Irish man, played by Scottish Gerard Butler- I don’t know why they did that either– is dying of a terminal illness, and so he leaves his wife letters and gifts that come to her from beyond the grave.

I was so inspired that I decided that’s what I wanted my life to be like, except for the dying part, and so I quickly got to work. I went out and bought a copy of P.S. I Love You and hid it in the bedroom with instructions of what to do.

I hid gifts and letters around the house; I celotaped cinema tickets to the back of a picture of New York, instructing him to look behind the city of dreams; I left bottles of champagne for him and his family; I had delicious goodness delivered to the door; and I spent the first hour of every day I was gone writing a letter with further instructions, telling him how much I missed him, and ending every one with P.S. I Love You.

Now that my ex has run off with a ginger, though, this year I’m not going to have anyone to write to- and that’s quite a sad thought- but then I remembered somebody once explaining to me that love is like a drug, when it’s taken away from us we start to get withdrawal symptoms, and that’s why heartaches hurts so much. We don’t necessarily miss the person we’ve lost, but we miss having somebody to love.

So, in light of this, I’ve decided that whenever I’m lonely or want to tell somebody about my adventures, I’ll write to my future husband- and even though I haven’t met him yet, and probably won’t for many many years, I’ll tell him that I miss him.

Maybe I’ll give him the letters one day, or maybe I’ll cringe in embarrassment, deny their existence, and put them through the shredder.

Or maybe I just won’t write them at all, and spend those lonely moments in Italy getting drunk on Spritz. 

Yes, that’s probably what I’ll do.

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