My Romance


It is an internal conflict as old as romance itself: a fascinating woman walks into your life on the arm of a friend.  The more you get to know the woman, the more you think about her – and him – and how she looks at him; you become jealous. 

Because you are friends with the man, you try to normalize your feelings for the woman and act as if nothing has changed between you. You evade your feelings for her until her adulation and hardly hidden passion for your friend breaks through your façade. Hurt, you rationalize your own ardor away, helped by her strong indications that your feelings are unrequited.

Then you begin to question your own lovability? Didn't you do everything right? Aren't you every bit as desirable as your friend? Why doesn't she love you? What is the answer to this seemingly unanswerable problem?

It's simple, really. 

You write a pop song. You use an obscure word in one of the verses. Your conflict becomes immortalized and screamed by throngs of girls throughout the ages. You soon forget all about Jessie’s Girl. 


(My complete adoration of 80s music is why I do, but should not, listen to the oldies station in my car.)

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