No kidding, I am as excited about this as most women probably are for their wedding day. Ever since it was first announced that Once would be adapted for Broadway, I knew I would go. It didn’t matter if I was living in Ohio; it wouldn’t have mattered if I lived in Australia. When you love something enough, you’ll do anything for it.
Including wait until November to see it.
Normally, when I’m this giddy about something in the future, I try to tell myself not to let it get out of hand. After all, the real thing can’t possibly be as satisfying as the anticipation, can it?
Can it? I don’t know. And I don’t really care this time. I think it’s going to be amazing, and even if it isn’t quite what I was expecting–even if it doesn’t live up to my fairytale romance dreams of perfection–I’m almost positive I’m still going to enjoy it. When you love something enough, the flaws don’t matter.
Maybe that’s why I’m single: I can’t imagine loving a person as much as I love this movie. But then, I think I love this movie an unhealthy amount. An obsessive love is never good. It only leads to pain and heartbreak. No, I want to love a person less than Once. I don’t want to place all of my hopes on a person. I want to let the person mess up a million times and still be mine. I don’t want to put a person on a pedestal and expect it to remain there forever. I want a person to get hurt with me; I want us to get dirty together; I want to be messed up with someone I love. Because if you can make it through all of that and still want to wake up each day to each other, I’m pretty sure that’s the best kind of love. Of course, what do I know about that? Here I am pining away for a musical.
Anyway. Once. I’m sort of excited to see it on Broadway.