A Love Letter to Movie Theaters
Dear Movie Theaters,
You’ve always been there for me, from the very start, and I’m only now realizing that I’ve never stopped to tell you just how much you mean to me. The moment I step through your doors, I’m home. The air, thick with the scent of buttery popcorn, fills me with a sense of comfort that I can never find anywhere else. And as I walk through the dimly lit aisles to claim my spot, it feels like stepping into another world, a world that’s ours alone.
Getting that perfect seat was always a bit of a game, sometimes even a competition. Row L or two-thirds to the back, dead center. That was always the mission. It was a ritual. An obsession. A battle. One that I was determined to win. The perfect calculation: Arrive early enough to the ticket booth to beat whoever was eyeing the same seat, but not so early that I was left wandering awkwardly before the doors opened.
And oh, how I loved getting my hands on those little ticket stubs you’d always gift me. You know the ones: Printed on flimsy or slightly rough paper, stuffed into pockets, often a little crumpled, and even dusted with popcorn powder. I’ve kept every single one you’ve given me since 2015. Yes, every single one. I don’t exactly know why I do it, but even when I was forced to get tickets online instead, it drove me crazy. I hated the thought of losing that memento. So I’d sometimes print them out, just to have something tangible to keep. And no, I’m not a boomer. I’d scan my e-ticket like everyone else but keep the printout anyway, stashing it away in the depths of my cabinet. I know, it’s ridiculous. I may be bordering on hoarding, but those little pieces of paper meant something to me. They still do.
And okay, I’ll admit it: Popcorn was never my thing. I know, don’t hate me. I couldn’t stand how it always got stuck between my teeth, so I’d usually get fries instead. But what always amazed me, what I was truly in awe of, were those who could somehow make their popcorn buckets last through at least half the movie. Whatever snack I had was completely gone even before the trailers had finished.
But oh, the trailers. I miss them. I could never get enough of them. Sure, it might have been the tenth time I’d seen the trailer for the next blockbuster, but on the big screen, you always made it feel like the first. And while some might try to cover their eyes for fear of spoilers, I just couldn’t look away. It wasn’t that it brainwashed me. It was just your movie theater magic making it feel just as exciting as the first.
And then the main event. I know how much you loved it when I gave you all my attention for a solid two hours. What blissful hours they were. No phones, no notifications, no distractions. It was like a staring contest between us. Just me, you, and the movie we shared. (And maybe a couple of other people too, but… this is about you and me.) I know staring contests can be tear-jerkers too, but the way you made me sob was entirely different as you threw me into a whirlwind of emotions. The audible gasp during a plot twist, the laughter at a clever punchline, the seat grab during a thrilling chase, the quiet sniffle during a heartbreaking moment. It was in those moments that I realized just how much I love you.
And although it pains me to say this, I have to confess: I’ve cheated on you.
I promise it wasn’t my fault. It’s not you, it’s me. Or maybe the circumstances. Maybe the world. I like to tell myself that it started during the pandemic, that COVID forced me to, but really, I’d been doing it long before then. At first, it was just streaming movies whenever I got bored. And then it turned into binge-watching. 24-hour marathons of just losing myself. I thought it would be temporary, that I’d come back to you eventually. But the truth is, I got comfortable. Watching movies at home was easy. Too easy. No commute, no lines, no overpriced snacks. I didn’t even have to get out of bed.
But it was never the same as it was with you. Not even close.
The screen was far too small. The lighting was never perfect. And worst of all, notifications bothered me endlessly, always hovering at the top, blocking parts of the movie. A two-hour runtime would somehow turn into two days as I paused to answer texts, scroll through social media, or grab another snack. And, to top it off, I committed the ultimate sin: changing playback speeds. I know. I have no other words, but sorry.
I’m so sorry.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, can compare to you. I love how your darkness wraps me up like a warm embrace. I love how you take me to places I’ve never been. I love how you make me forget everything else, something I’ll never experience with the glow of a laptop screen. With you, I’m fully yours. Completely yours.
I miss you. I miss the way you make me feel. And I promise, no matter what, I’ll always come back to you.
Love,
Moviegoer