In Their Shoes

Playing Cupid seems to be innate.

I doubt there are many who haven’t thought, “Those two would be perfect together.” Airing that thought, or acting on that presumption, would be something else altogether. I am guilty as charged, no more than anyone else, I dare say.

Perhaps it’s the exposure to Hollywood’s happy ending cliché, the images of Disney’s happily ever after. Cynicism aside, perhaps it is just wishing happiness to those you love the most.

Or perhaps we build on an idea of perfection, of what is meant to be and what isn’t.

I have loved ones whose partners I abhor/hate/mildly disapprove (fill in blank), in the past, in the present. Perhaps when love is blinded, you can only wish for clarity at times when it seems that things are on the pathway to hell.

Then again, only time was able to teach me that I had to leave them to make those mistakes. Despite the pleas, the reasoning, perhaps it was my inability to accept the choices of my friends and loved ones, were in fact, their choices.

As an observer, it is easy to see the pain, the broken hearts, the ineffectual attempts at beginning, or maintaining a relationship. It is easy to wish, and contrive, easy to dispense of advice, easy to push. Predictions fall short, sometimes for the better, sometimes for worse. As a friend, I may feel the backlash; the tears, the anger, the restless nights.

And as much as I could try to put myself in their shoes, the shoes never feel quite right, and I’m just an observer after all.