a lesson in letting go.
Once upon a time there was a boy. There was a girl. And there was a Nintendo.
The boy was the girl's best friend, but unfortunately, the girl knew they were not meant to be. When the boy moved away, with his broken heart, he left behind his Nintendo, which had been lost in the shuffle of time. Months passed, and the boy and girl no longer spoke. One day, the girl happened upon the old Nintendo. Unsure of what to do, she did nothing. It was all she had left from years of friendship that had completely vanished. So, she put it in a safe place until she could decide what should be done.
In time, the Nintendo became a silly glimmer of hope. Hope that if she returned it, friendship would follow. Or, if not friendship, perhaps forgiveness from the boy who now despised her for breaking his heart. More time passed, and the box stayed in the same place, gathering dust. The girl always had good intentions--she'd send it with a note...she just needed time to write the perfect note. The note would be very funny and a little charming...the boy would have to laugh, and forgive her for breaking his heart. Then they would giggle about the horrible sandwiches they once ate in northern Minnesota, or that time they chased a beaver down by the river. Life would feel right again, and they'd exchange the occasional friendly email, perhaps send cheery birthday cards and have the most uncomplicated friendship exes could ever have.
But for now, she just couldn't touch the box. Because, no matter how silly that girl was, she knew this: Touching the box meant it was really, truly all over. She knew that in sending that dusty old box, nothing would happen. The boy would likely receive it, rejoice over his long lost Nintendo, and yet continue in silence, leaving their friendship on the cutting room floor of time, only to be remembered in passing comments to others about days gone by, or romance gone awry. Nothing would be mended. She could not control the forgiveness of others. There was no green tunnel in which she could discover a shortcut to the friendship she so misses, after battling a fiery monster or two. Relationships cannot be miraculously repaired with the ol' Nintendo blow. When the game is over...the game is over.
And the game is really, truly over. She is packing up the old Nintendo. She is taping the box shut, and not including the charming note she's written in her mind for the past few months. Although, she will address it in her friendliest handwriting, in hopes that will convey some meaning.
Time marches on, and so must we, whether we're forgiven or not. Even if it means we must foolishly cry in the post office over a dusty Nintendo, and all its metaphorical meaning.