Monday, February 27, 2012

It's Not You, It's Me

We need to talk.

Foreboding words, right? Words that launch you into a tunnel of worry, regret and gloom. Words that indicate a decision may be nigh and that it's not yours to make. Words that provoke more words and even more words. Words that set off a sequence of events that have to be endured, simply because there is no other option. Words that engender, more than any of the above, more than anything else, hope. Hope that this isn't what it seems. Hope that your worst fears aren't about to be realised.

Where are we going?

So the a and e pawns are toast. A forced sequence leads us to this very unpleasant position:

I've never felt like this about anyone before.

And yet there's hope. The d pawn is enough of a nuisance to force the white king into the centre. 

We want different things.

The pleading begins. An equilibrium is surely still possible.

I'm sorry. It's over.

In chess, we have the option to end the discussion and move on at any point. Games like this, where an unattainable carrot is dangled in your face, are doubly painful to lose because of the process involved. The possibility of saving the game means a resignation isn't forthcoming as quickly as it should be. 

Hope is exhausting.

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