The Clive Cycle
At the end of the summer, I was consumed with a bit of good madness. Clive was moving across the country to Ivy League School, and I would be graduating and leaving BYU in December. There was not much to lose, but very much to gain if it was possible. I determined to tell Clive of my feelings for him (which I do not believe I will ever be able tell another man ever again).
With trembling limbs, I climbed the stairs to Clive's apartment. I nearly turned back several times, and my knock on his door was barely audible. He invited me in and we had a great conversation about the two of us. Our admiration for each other and all that jazz, but nothing ever came of that conversation. A few weeks later I watched Clive drive away towards Ivy League School without the faintest hope that I would ever even see him again, let alone marry him. (Which was my secret determination as you may have guessed).
But there exists, The Clive Cycle. I still think about him often and secretly hope that he'll come back to Provo to whisk me away to Ivy League School to be his Ivy League Wife. And then I despair that such a thing will never happen, then I'll become angry at his obvious lack of love for me (we're perfect for each other!), then I'll remember how wonderful he truly is and how lucky I would be to be Mrs. Clive. Around and around, again and again. And Clive and I only ever communicate to discuss our mutual love and frustrations for Downton Abbey. (Just imagine, I could be the wife of man who loves Downton Abbey). It is a circle with no progression or purpose. Some days it exists to keep me sane, to remind me that there are wonderful men in this world; other days it exists to remind me that wonderful men don't seem to find me as equally wonderful.
I am a perpetual Edith.
Con Amor,
The Lady
1 comments:
Let's bring him back and get you outta the cycle! Or get you there! You have to marry Clive!
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