Congratulations Newfound Romance!

Born on a Friday, byproduct of alcohol and eye contact and a tank top and feigned interest in a poster on a wall, you are a newfound romance, and today you are flush and wonderful and immortal, undying, permanent.  You'll be occurring between James, age 22, and Mara, age 27, who will, over the next four days, have sex twelve times, eat six meals together, meet for drinks twice, exchange books and mix tapes, and, to cap it all off, foreswear speaking to one another following a remarkably ugly event just outside The Walker in Minneapolis.

You will not last.  You are not permanent.  You are only here for a few brief moments, and, in the end, your departure is inevitable.  But for now, you are flush with life, coursing through the veins of everyone in the room, visible from space when Mara and James stand side by side waiting for the signal to change on the crosswalk or looking at anything particularly interesting, which will occur more often than usual thanks largely to your presence.

You are not perfect: you will convince two people who have no business being together that they are ideally suited for one another.  You will cause a 27 year old woman and a 22 year old man to engage in two acts of unprotected sex within 72 hours of meeting with one another.  You will, in the end, be responsible for heartbreak which will ruin the weeks of all parties involved in your doings.

But all of this will occur in proportion to the joy you bring.  It'll be difficult, nigh impossible, to vilify you.  You are, after all, a remarkable thing, and while we all know you end poorly, one way or another, the joy you bring in the furtive moments of your existence is unparalleled.

So Congratulations Newfound Romance!  When you end, we'll wonder why you were even here, and likely as not curse your name, but for now, we'll just sit and watch and enjoy.