Lost Love

If there’s one thing I enjoy most about any medium–television, movie, or book–it’s characterization, the ability to project these fictional essences to such a degree that you invest yourself in them. While I don’t mind harmless fluff from time to time (for example, the large majority of action films in theaters nowadays that care more about adrenaline than thought), it’s hard to sustain a diet on eye candy alone.

One show I adore is Lost, which initially I was dubious about because of my inherent mistrust of any cultural phenomenon. Color that a quirk, as many times I’m pleasantly surprised to find out that something’s popularity is well deserved. I can’t–and won’t–sum up the 2.5 seasons of the show to this point. It’s an ensemble cast, full of intriguing conundra and backstories that are passed out in thimbles rather than mugs. That’s the draw, you see–these flashbacks intertwined with the weekly story, the mystery, the learning about these castaways, wanting to know what happened to get them to the point they’re at.

Perhaps my OD is a reflection of that.

Anyway, I’ve probably written two paragraphs too many of explanation–my curse–but there was a moment during this episode, the best of the season so far, that struck me.  I won’t explain the backstory of Desmond and Penelope; if you’re desperate for context, go here.

It wasn’t a profound moment, nor particularly earth-shattering. To some, it may seem treacly–but most of us at some point in time find our heart aching at the simplest things, and mine often does when I hear words I wish I’d spoken, or had spoken to me.  Without further ado:

Penny:  I love you.
Desmond:  Why? Why do you love me?
Penny:  Because you’re a good man. In my experience, they’re pretty hard to come by.