Ode to albatrosses: Eternal Youth

Some people live forever, some you forget the instant you turn your back after meeting them, others you will never even meet nor hear of so are, effectively, not even real to you. I'll always remember my first boyfriend. We were six, maybe seven, it lasted a day and we had to break up when I went home because we were both on holiday and didn't feel we could manage a long distance relationship. Plus, he tried to steal my ice cream and two timed me with my sister so I wasn't really that happy with him anyway. I can't tell you his name, nor what he looked like. I can tell you that we had a blanket in the car that day and that my mum and dad fought the whole way there and back. I can nearly visualise his face, but my memory isn't that spectacular so I only have a vague Peter Pan-type image of a boy with a pretty face and a penchant for mischief.

I'm in that relationship now, all over again. He isn't pretty nor seven years old, but he has the same appeal. You're more likely to find him near some mischief than anything else, and I definitely wouldn't put it past him to try to steal my ice cream before I had given him permission. He'll never really get old for me, no matter how long I know him. If I know him in fifty years he'll still have that special place in my heart for the Peter Pan type figure of mischief; the boy who has made me stupidly happy, but also permanently pissed off. I have two levels, the girl who needs that idiot child to make her happy, and the maternal, slightly more mature, woman who wants to make him act with more responsibility, like a bigger, better, person.

He's so separate from everything else; he has absolutely nothing to do with anything that was in my life before. I guess it's the same as being a super hero at night, but having a mild mannered alter ego during the day. Except a lot less dramatic. I see him late at night; I can only count a few instances when I've seen him before eleven o clock. And I think that was the best bit about us; it makes things easier not having to cope with all the everyday stuff. He doesn't come into contact with my family, and he isn't anything to do with school. He fits; it sounds really strange, but his personality fits into mine. We can have stupid conversations about buying a farm, about the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. And we can talk about artichokes. I love that, but I don't need that. I need someone who I see on a regular basis, who reassures me when I feel sad, and whose there when I simply need to sit quietly with someone's arm around me.

What I need doesn't matter, not right now. For now, what I want is much more important. So I see him when I can, and I mope in between, wishing I had a more constant stream of happiness. We'll last forever. That cut-out moment at about three in the morning where we're lying there wrapped round each other in the dark, talking about stupid things; that's us, and that's what lasts. But the relationship is already dying. I've grown up a little; we need different things, yada yada yada. But we'll be okay for a while. For a while we'll go on as we have done, I'll probably let it last till June when he goes; there isn't much time left anyway. He makes me happy, but any illusions of love, or anything else even slightly meaningful, are gone.