Birthday’s preparation

“Nobody understands me, except you.”

You wrote me this at 7am this morning. I grabbed my phone at 9am, my eyes half closed and that was the first message of my day. “I totally understand you. And yes, only me”. You said hi to me and you sent me the first song of Charles X “Distracted”. I listened to it and selected another song for you. You commented on it. I commented it back. We chatted for one hour.

Suddenly I felt like saying something more explicit, something like “I miss you”, “I would love to have you in my arms”, or even “I miss your naked body”. We almost never exchanged kinky messages, or very rarely. Most of the time I do not feel especially the need to do it either. I remember you told me once that it was useless to send messages like this when we are apart. Either we can be together and then we do not need these messages, you don’t see the point of sending these messages and get all aroused for nothing. I understand you. Somehow we send the songs and the lyrics mean something to us. The title of the song as well. We carefully choose the songs that we know the other would like. Your style. My style. The lyrics.

Then around noon I received a mail from a friend in Boston. He said that my package arrived yesterday evening. My package is actually your package. Inside the package there are 50 Chinese cookies fortune with 12 personalized messages for your birthday in April. I ordered it from the US and the company did not deliver it in Europe so I asked my friend in Boston to receive it for me and then he will send to me by tomorrow. One of the messages was: “Nobody understands you, except me”. I usually start to think about your birthday present around January. It is always a big deal for me even though you always say that you do not care, it will be just like another normal day. But I always prepared something. The other day you told me that you love the sound of guitar and guitar is the instrument you like most. Then I started to think that I could learn how to play guitar now so that I can play something for you and record it for the next birthday. Yes, it could be a good idea.

My day was nothing exceptional as I still have a lot of back pain so in spite of the beautiful weather I stayed mostly inside and read and thought of you. You wrote to me almost every hour. You had to prepare for the next fight and coach two free fighters. In two days we will be together for a few days. You told me that you will take all the music I like for the trip and we do not need to write to each other that much as we will be completely together.

I don’t need to say out loud “I love you” or “I miss you”. You know it. Every second of your day, your life, you know it. That was why at 7am in the morning you wrote to me, simply “Nobody understands me, except you.”

 

While I cannot move

I lie in bed and cannot move

Those mornings I see the sun but cannot feel it from my room

When winter allows spring to show up

But just for a moment

Your words come to me

With kindness, empathy

And mostly love

The laughs you share in words

The music you share in letters

You show up in my mornings, early than usual

You warm me up

In distance we share the sun, the winter and the short moment of spring

When I lie in my bed and cannot move

Your words see the world for me

Your letters bring the world to me

I lie there and receive

And write to the world about you

As you are exactly the poem I wanted to write

Sunday walking through a park

Sunday early evening. You walk with him through a quiet park. It is icy cold. The air is pure and fresh. The park is desert. He was born in this neighborhood. He says that he knows every single house and building near this park. As a kid he used to distribute advertising and newspaper in exchange of some pocket money. He tells you that. “Are you cold?” he asks. “Yes, a bit”, you answer. “Come closer to me”. You take his arms. “May I?” you ask. “So this is where you grew up…”. You feel like you had known him since lives, before you were even born. He walks you through his neighborhood. The bus stop where he waited for the bus to come as a kid. The hospital where he was born.

Sunday noon. You arrive at his parent’s. You are invited for lunch. You are sharp on time. You kiss his mom and dad. You are in the kitchen with his mom. He arrives with ten minutes late. He kisses you greetings. He says that he likes your dress. “Is it new?” He smiles at you. The lunch lasts for five hours. He has a healthy relationship with his parents. They laugh a lot. He teases you most of the time. Conversations split into two camps: you and his mom, him and his dad. Everyone teases everyone. You defends his mom. He teases you and defends his dad. The basic jokes on women and men’ differences. His mom shows you his pictures when he was a baby, then a kid, then an adolescent. Sometimes he caresses your cheeks. You blush as you are in front of his parents.

Sunday early evening. You say thank you and goodbye to his parents. They give you cake and food from Italy to bring home. Each time is the same. You never go home empty hand. He kisses them goodbye. You two leave the house together. There he shows you the park and his neighborhood.

It is icy cold. Your heart is warm. His hands are warm. His arms are warm. You wait for the bus with him. You can feel his breathe close to your cheeks. You cannot look at him into the eyes. He kisses you a thousands of times goodbye. He looks for your eyes. And lips. Your bus arrives first. You bite his lips gently and say bye. You walk toward the bus and still feel his eyes behind your back. You imagine you are twelve years old and him too. You imagine him exactly like on the pictures of his album. You are already with him by then. Your love has lasted the years of childhood and until now. And this Sunday is not the only one as there has been tons of those Sundays before this one. He is beyond time as so is your love for him.

Pink clouds

He arrives in a cold evening of February two days before Valentines. You have your Valentines celebration early this year. He arrives in a foggy evening when outside is all dark and the only thing you can see is his smile. He arrives and the first thing he asks you is what you would like to eat on Sunday at his parents’ place. He says that he would have to write to Mom and tell her to cook for you what you like most. He says Mom and Dad and never says “my Mom” and “my Dad”. You like the sound of these two words. Everything with him is simple and yet perfect.

You like these evenings with him as he is happy with everything you give him. He loves your food. Any kind. He likes the bottle of wine you choose. He likes the tea you prepare. He helps you to set the table. He puts the candles. He puts on your favorite music. He shows a new radio station with the music you love. He listens to your stories from the office. You ask advices from him. You tell him that one of your colleagues gets divorced. You were with him at her wedding five years ago. He says he is sorry and asks why she left. You ask him about the ideal couple for him. He says he does not know but he thinks you two get very close to that concept. He says he feels comfortable in your company. He is himself and maybe that is for him the ideal couple. You say that you do not see him often to be in couple with him but everything is right when you are with him. You say that is enough. You can nourish yourself with the intensity of your feelings and these evenings.

He makes love to you the way that no one had ever done to you before. You think that describing how it is is just not powerful enough. You feel his skin and he is yours every second of the night. You say something that you had never said to anyone before him: Oh my baby you are the best. He says that you should be forbidden. The night is too short. You cannot sleep. He looks at you the whole night. You cannot speak. You just wait for his kiss. A thousands of them arrive on your body and your lips. You say that you two should get away from this world. He says “whenever”.

You do not exaggerate. He is perfection. You and him are perfection. When you describe “you and him”, it sounds normal and simple but when you are with him, nothing is normal. You float through a parade of pink clouds. You cannot be on earth for days after he leaves. You cannot work or concentrate. His kisses are on your mind. His words, his gazes, his strong hands.

He says thank you a thousands of time. He says: see you in two days at mom’s and dad’s. He leaves and then comes back to kiss you again. He does this at least four times until you say: go ! go ! go !

You waive at him from the window. The morning is still foggy. Pink clouds are nowhere but in your heads. But suddenly you spot a pale pink cloud from far. It smiles to you. The way he smiles to you.

Will you still love me tomorrow ?

Tonight you’re mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow?

Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment’s pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Tonight with words unspoken
You say that I’m the only one
But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning sun?

I’d like to know that your love
Is love I can be sure of
So tell me now, and I won’t ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?

 

He thought he did not deserve you. He stepped back so someone else could take his place. For a moment he thought you would be happier like this. He thought you would be better without him and you could build a nice life with someone else. Whatever decision you had made and told him, he accepted without being mad or angry at you. As your best friend, he accepted that you walked away from him.

You have been waiting for him during his trip away from home. He could not offer a conventional couple to you. Even though you did not ask for it. He thought he could not and you could not deal with it. All of these “you thought that I thought”.

He was waiting for you and left you with space. He lets you take him back when you are ready. You had tried with someone else. It did not work out. You have one love and it is HIM. You do not need to explain.

He is there, waiting for you. You open the door and he falls in your arms. He does not say anything and neither do you. You know that in whatever form or shape, you and him would be together this time forever. You are born again. And so is he. You stay in his arms for a long twenty minutes. His head on your shoulder. He squeezes your tiny body with his strong arms. He is beautiful. He smells good. He feels strong. He is strong. You do not look into his eyes. Your legs feel weak. If you look into his eyes, you will faint. Then comes the kiss. The one that defines love. Only by him and you. You feel his lips. You have never been kissed before. You are a virgin. He is your first. This is your first kiss ever. He makes you forget all men who were there before him. Five years ago, you had kissed him for the first time. Each time when your lips touch his, it feels like the first time. He kisses you as if you were his oxygen. Then comes his voice: “It was too long. It was too long. I have waited. I have waited. You can have everything from me, you know that, just ask me.”

And now you look at him. You cannot believe. You think you are dreaming. You look at him. Your love for him is powerful. Your knees are shaking. You fall. He catches you.

“I am poor. I have nothing. I cannot give you much. You know that. If you are with someone else, you  can have a good life. I can wait longer.”

You do not answer right away. You cannot breathe. You fully understand for once the meaning of true love. It is his love for you and yours for him.

“You don’t need to wait. I am here.”

Five years when absence meant nothing to you, challenges were easy, obstacles were insignificant. Five years you have loved him. As a friend. As a best friend. As a lover. As everything you can be. And apparently him too. True love is absolutely beautiful and strange. You can be apart but never separated. In your mind you die with him and your love. You grow old with him. You can live apart or together. This is the most powerful thing you have ever experienced in love.

This morning when you listened to Bryan Ferry’s version of “Will you still love me tomorrow?” , the most beautiful version of this song, you feel cocky because of course he will still love you tomorrow and the day after, and the day after and the day after and in a century time. Like he did these last five years. When you were with him or with someone else.

This morning you stayed longer in bed. You felt warm. Of him inside you. He gives the new meaning to the “making love” words. It all makes sense. You are his virgin. You have never made love with another man before him. There was no men before him and after him. You asked for more. Of him inside you. “You can have everything from me, you know that, just ask me”. He said it once again. You feel your naked body under his strong body. “Say it again please. I want more. I want everything.” He obeyed. You came together. He cried. He is your redemption. You always know that.

The sound of love when it walks away…

The sound of love when it walks out of your heart is just as silent as a drop of snow hitting the sidewalk. For a moment you think that you can die when your love is gone. Your heart has no more space and you cannot bear one more negative feeling. You know that your love story hits an end. You feel that it is over. You do not look for any other rational or irrational reasons. You let your love go away. You say goodbye to it. You do not feel free right away. You feel peace. You struggle for months to keep the love you had. But then you realize that it was vain and you lost the battle. The love you feel is just gone. No matter how hard you hold on to it. The machine maintaining life for your love makes the last sound. Your love is not viable anymore. Dead. Gone.

Not loving someone anymore is a strange process. The departure is never abrupt. It is a long and painful process. You are not sure. First you do not understand why it happened to you. First you are very sad. You think you did something wrong. You think you screw up everything. You blame yourself for not getting things fixed. But then you realize that your love was dying for months ago already. Out of despair, disappointments and painful negociations.

The sound of love when it walks away is peaceful. Not joyful but peaceful. It is a relief that love comes to an end. For those who love to love this could be illogical and unacceptable. But it happens. Love can die and cannot breathe through misunderstandings and incessant complications.

Let it die. Accept it. Understand it and let it go.

This morning love walked out of your body and you fully accepted it. You did not fight back. It was silent this morning. Silence not emptiness.

 

Happiness

Yesterday like any other evening they watched a movie. Apart. Around 8pm he always writes to her the name of the movie so that they can watch at the same time. They have been doing this for many years. After the movie they write to each other and share their thoughts on the movie.

Yesterday he picked a new movie “Hector and the search for happiness”, a light comedy of a psychiatrist and his journey in the search for happiness.

At midnight they asked each other what made them happy.

Happiness is defined by moments, short moments, long moments. An immediate well-being state of mind. There is nothing else to think about. For an instant, they are happy, just like that. Happiness is when they manage to be together. Time stays still when they are together. Only that counts. Happiness is when they forget about others, when the world outside does not exist for them anymore. Happiness is when they do not care about what could happen next. Only the “now” counts.

Happiness is looking at his eyes and seeing the light of the sun, and even the sun does not come out that day yet, it is still shiny enough. Happiness is smiling for nothing particular just because he is there.

Happiness is the idea of him. Only the idea.

Happiness is each silly emoticon he sends during the day to cheer her up.

Happiness is the good morning song he sends, the “how was your day” song he sends, the good night song he sends.

Happiness is how they live their feelings without worrying about the consequences or the future.

Happiness is how she can write about him for years and all the tiny little things concerning him could be like the universe for her.

Happiness is not only love or being loved, it is far beyond that feeling.

Happiness is particular, it is them and the way they keep on caring about their feelings.

Happiness is when there is no way out than to love each other the way they love each other. Even if they are apart and will be more than apart.

Happiness is knowing all the difficulties and not to avoid them.

Happiness is courage and in their case, certainly a great amount of craziness.

Happy New Year to you !

My love,

Your words came in the night while I was asleep.

The start into 2015 seems peaceful. I am convinced that one day we will be together.

I wrote to you at 00:00 that I would bribe God to give you the best of the best.

You wrote to me that nothing should need to be said as we know we are here for each other.

I am in a couple with a man who leaves me alone yesterday evening because his child decided not to come to my place. They were up in the mountains with friends and he agreed to that. I was supposed to join them but my lumbago did not allow me to. I was surprised they did not even think to take the train 2 hours to get back to the city to be with me on the 31st. I am still with this man. I have tried and put all the efforts to make it work. I have even forgotten you to make it work. Symbolically when I am sick I cannot count on him. I don’t mind spending yesterday evening thinking of you. I only mind that I am not free and somehow I am not completely yours in this way.

I love you. I love you with everything I have, with all my heart. You have been my inspiration for the blog. You are in my mind every single day. I was such a fool to think that I could forget you and move on. You are the kind of man who prefers to see me happy with another man. You are scared not to be able to give me a stable life, a normal life. You think you are poor and cannot afford a decent life for me. But you give me everything else. You are the air that I breathe.

January the 1st. I need to get out of my relationship. Not because of you. I want to be free. Not because of you. There is no connection whatsoever between the failure of my relationship and you. Not because of you. Because of the love I have for you since years. The love which impedes me to love someone else though I tried.

You are apart. You are royal. You are everything I like, love and treasure. Everything. I can’t say enough. Everything. I can’t find anything I dislike in you. Most of all because you are free, not judgmental, generous.

I can’t write always the same thing. I love you. And as of this 1st January I will grow old with you. I have to.

New Year’s Evening

There are two people on earth for whom the New Year’s Eve is not important. No big deal. You and me. We talk about this every year when the date is approaching. Each year you spend it alone. I usually have more invitations or let’s call it – obligations. Last year you were in Phuket, alone, doing nothing special, you texted me at midnight my time. I was miserable in the mountains with people whom I don’t know well, with conflicts in couple. I wrote to you. You told me to get out of it – the house or the relationship. I sent to my stepfather a SOS text, asking for advices. My 31st 2013 was terrible.

This year you are alone. I am too. I would not have been able to escape obligations if it was not because of my lumbago. I need calm and rest. I need to reach the first minute of 2015 alone. I feel like it would be the best way to end the year. All the years I spent the 31st evenings alone have always turned out fine. I feel like I have my destiny grabbed firmly in my hands at the very first minute of the year, with no interactions with other people. The more I grow old the less I have the capacity to stand small talks, dinners with people I don’t know well, and specifically on the 31st evening. After all I think I do care a lot about this day, I would love to spend it with the loved ones but not with strangers. Last year I was surrounded with strangers, stuck in a house, in couple. I have made efforts for the couple to be with strangers at dinner on the 31st. This year, at this time, at six hours before midnight, I already feel the serenity. I let go.

I stop thinking of you today. Not forever. Just today. Every day of the year I think of you. Non-stop. This would be the only evening when I think only about myself without letting you down. But strangely enough, the moment I stop thinking of you I instantly feel you even closer to me.

 

 

And now you have a decent coffee

IMG_9212In one night snow covered the whole street and the roofs of the houses were shining in a bright sparkling white, partly because of the snow and mostly because of the reflection of the light on it. Yesterday I had a severe lumbago for the fifth time this year. The discal hernia is not getting any day better. It is just a matter of time. All was calm outside. You put on the music of the movie “Fresa y chocolate”, an old Cuban movie, one of my favorites as well as the soundtrack. You came for dinner but I could not move. I did not try to put any explanation about the pain in my back. There would be no psychological explanation this time. I believe my back was just in a very bad shape since a year. Or maybe if I dare, I have been living not such an easygoing life this past year.

You brought a small coffee maker, a metallic one, enough for two persons. I always drink instant coffee and for you an Italian, it would be a bit a pain to share an instant coffee with me even if politely you had never once criticized the awful taste of it. You said that now I can have a decent coffee in the morning. You showed me how to prepare it. You showed me how to wash it. You insisted not to use any detergent and only water. You showed me how to use the washing machine as for years now I have always washed the dishes myself. You fixed the broken lamp in the kitchen. The one in the living room and in the hall. You cleaned my computer. You installed all the apps to make it safer. You showed me everything possible that would make my life easier with a computer. You cooked as I could not. You said that you are the boss so that you could put any ingredients you like in the recipe. You cooked and cleaned. You gave me a back massage. A strong one as if I was one of your free fighters. You used the Thai massage oil – the one you gave me after your trip in Phuket.

Outside it was still snowing and even more intense. You looked outside the window and told me that you could never forget our week together in the mountains three years ago. It was two months before you left the city for the first time. We went through the memories date by date, month by month. I was surprised you remember so much about us. I told you that once before you board for Thailand I was in Tokyo, in a hotel room, waiting for your call, I was taking a bath when you called. When the phone rang I jumped out of the bath without a towel, all soaked and talked to you, naked in the room, so scared to miss your call. Funny thing is that I pretended to be totally cool when you asked me: “How are you? What are you doing?” I answered: “Oh you know, nothing special”. Yesterday night I told you the truth. I made you laugh. You remember my birthday card, a card written with a “I f…king love you” with a huge red heart on it. I gave you the card two months before your birthday so that you could have it on the birthday while traveling. But you could not wait and opened it the day after. And you told me that when we met again. I was so ashamed. It was always easier to declare one’s love by message than face to face. I told you I was ashamed and should not be doing that. You answered: it was really alright, I love the card.

We went through our years together. Upon dinner. We have our ways to talk about things without being too sentimental and yet we are. Maybe it is just the way we look at each other and the words we use are very simple, very innocent. Would it be different if we talk to each other in your mother-tongue language. You said several times you loved being with me. You used the word “love” just like that. You said you loved my hands, my smile. Simple like that when you said “love”. In your mouth it sounds simple and pure.

I told you about the tattoo of your initial once I wanted to have. You said that luckily I did not do it as for now I would regret it and a lot. No, I don’t. Even now I would not regret it. I said. You looked at me. I could read in your gaze a bit of surprise but also a bit of sadness.  “Really?”. Yes, really. You should not doubt it. I did not say it out loud. It was intense enough.

I wish I could find another way to describe “us”. I wish I had a word stronger than the one I used to define “us” and our connection. This morning I woke up. My back was still in pain. I made my first coffee with your coffee pot. It tasted much better. I washed it only with water. The snow has stopped falling for a while. The street was white. The color of the sky too. All is calm. I have always loved the next morning after being with you. Life seems different. The whole perspective of life seems different after you. Life is full of dust and you are pure and completely out of our conventional system that seeing you always make me want to accomplish greater things. You are the only person who makes me believe that I can be different and better.

I looked at my cup of coffee, half empty and half warm. I miss your eyes. I miss the way you look at my heart which is full of our memories.

In one day we enter 2015. How can I define “us” ? It is everything. From my cup of coffee which reminds me of you to anything else that exists between us for more than three years now.

2015 could be anything. I believe. If things stay this way. The question of what we would become is so secondary. Because we can be anything. You give me this. Faith and perspective.

IMG_9211

Just feel it right and it’s gonna be alright…

I started to watch The Mentalist again. The new season is back. Usually The Mentalist TV show is just something entertaining for me, I watch it after a long day of work, trying to relax, watching something not very complicated. I like the characters though the intrigues and stories are always quite simple. Yesterday was the first time that an episode touched me more particularly. Nothing fancy or really deep but I was in the mood for that after having posted a piece on the blog.

In the 7th season, for those who do not know, the two principal characters were finally together. Patrick Jane is IN LOVE. After seven years of watching this show, finally the male character is in love. It is very rare that on-screen two actors could have such a chemistry as Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon. More than a complicity, either they are very good actors or they are really in love off-screen. I was particularly touched by the way she looks at him. Strange, it gives me goosebumps each time.

In one episode, her ex (the one she left because of Jane) asked Jane something like: “Do you have a plan for her? I gave her a life, do you have something to offer her?”. Later on Jane told Lisbon about that, she asked him: “Yes, and do you have a plan for us” – He answered: “No. I think we know what feels right and I think that that should be our guide”

I have to admit, I have been girly and over-romantic ever since this sentence was pronounced. It seems simple but so right. Simply said and here I am, writing something about it.

I wish any woman could hear this from the man she loves.

What feels right should always be our guide.

The story of a suitcase

My flight arrived in the morning. Extremely tired as I could not sleep during the flight. I got out of the airport and took a cab home. It was another thick dark grey sky- day but I was glad to be home after three weeks away. The day before I arrived I wrote him a message, asking him to come and pick me up at the airport. He could not at the time I asked as he had to teach until 2pm that day. I live in a building with no elevator and my flat is on the second floor. My back and heels problems do not allow me to carry the big and heavy suitcase up to the apartment. I could have asked the taxi driver and tipped more but somehow I preferred asking him. He told me not to worry and to leave my luggage downstairs. He told me he would come later on in the afternoon and bring it up for me. He also suggested me to come to his workplace instead of going home from the airport. Anything is possible just to avoid me carrying the suitcase up to my flat; anything is possible just to avoid me walking up all the steps with the suitcase. For that he wrote mail after mail to make sure that I would not do it by myself and I would wait for him to come. I answered him to not worry and that the suitcase would wait for him in the hall of the building.

I arrived home, took a shower and especially tried hard to not fall asleep. I drank coffee then tea and refused to eat to avoid the process of digesting which could make me even more tired and sleepy. He would come by 3pm. I roughly calculated the time he got out of class and the time he would need to reach my apartment. At 1pm I put on my pajama and struggled against the fatigue. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked unhealthy. My eyes were dark. My skin was pale. My hair was a mess. I was even more tired as the afternoon went by. At 2pm I was almost in a dream, walking around my living room. I practiced harpsichord for ten minutes but my fingers could hardly move. At 2.30 I received a text from him. He said he arrived soon. At 2.40pm I decided cowardly to lie on my bed for a few minutes. Things not to do as I fell asleep in less than one second. He rang the bell at 3pm. He could use the spare key I gave him once, but no, he rang. I woke up, more than stoned. I opened the door. He was there with my suitcase. He smiled and said that he woke me up he was sure. He said that the suitcase was light but of course not for me. I let him in. I realized that I was still on pajama. I remembered my face in the mirror one hour before. Pale skin, no makeup, hair in a mess, tiny eyes behind an old pair of eyeglasses, the one I only use at home, in front of no one. I said something like I am ugly and in pajama. He answered with a smile and a sound “tttssssss”. I added – And I am fat from all the food in the US. He said – nope you are not. I asked him to make us some tea and went directly to the living room and lied down on the sofa. I am so tired and lazy, could you make a green tea for us please. I was a great host, of course. I talked to him from the sofa. He asked me how was my trip and if I was happy to see my family over there. He came back with a pot of tea. He sat down next to me. I told him everything about my trip. When I checked my watch for the first time it was 6pm. He was there for three hours and we just talked non-stop. I felt like we were building together a new world or we were belonging to another world than the one we are living in now. I told him I had nothing to cook and I was not hungry either and all I wanted was to hit my bed. The whole time I was with him I was just myself and looked like nothing else than myself in the morning, when I get out of the shower. The whole time he looked at me in his unique way of looking at me. He said he would leave me so that I could go to bed. The whole time he talked to me in his unique way of talking to me. I told him the next time I would cook for him and I would be more awake and attentive to the conversation. I said that the next time we meet I would talk more. He laughed, kissed me on the forehead. I accepted the kiss. I stood there, barefoot, in my sloppy pajama, looking at him putting on his jacket and his backpack. He kissed me again on the forehead and left.

I went to bed right after that. The next morning I woke up and got a text from him: “Hope you got a sound sleep. I like that you feel comfortable around me in your pink pajama (with a smiley)”, to which I answered: “Very comfortable but still very ugly”, to which he in turn answered with a big-laugh smiley.

The past

Happiness is an art. I have been looking for happiness for the last 14 months. The more I look, the less I find. I have chosen a wrong path and since then living happily has become utopic.

I have been in couple for 14 months and as far as I can remember I was happier alone. It is a sad thing to say and probably I can hear people around me protesting. I believe I am happier alone. Either it is a true fact and I am just made to be alone or either I have chosen a wrong partner and my life in couple is not what I have expected.

Either way I am far from reaching happiness or the nirvana. I don’t know if I don’t want to be in couple or if I have been in a wrong relationship which led me to think that I am a person who could totally be alone, and die alone (which is even more than a truth).

The first wrong decision was to believe in the past. I was with my first boyfriend for 8 years when I was 16. I left him and we have lost contact for 20 years almost. Part of this was because he was angry at me for leaving him. Then for some reason we got back together after all these years. I have always believed that my past with him and my love for him were the most beautiful thing I had and leaving him was a biggest mistake of my life. When the opportunity showed up and pushed us back together I did not hesitate a second. It was 14 months ago. I have made space for this relationship and put all my soul into it.

The past was far past and the present is pain. The pain is so huge that I have lost all my faith, all my energy on the way to find happiness. I used to be joyful and I LOVE LIFE. I am now reduced to someone most of the time sad and weak. I hang on to the past to understand the difficulties of the present. I have nothing to hang on to except the past. The past of a story when I was 16. Destiny sucks and one thing I have learned from this story is that people do not change. Twenty years after the separation I have found the same person. The reasons that made me leave him twenty years ago could be the same for today. Nothing has changed except we are older and we are even more difficult and less tolerant.

I have been thinking for months about how one decision could jeopardize a whole life. I could walk away for the second time but for some reason I could not. Instead I stay and get sick and am sad. Someone once told me to forget the past, rectify the present so that my future can be better. I think I can’t just accept the second failure with the same person. There were too many mistakes in this decision. The thought of this person was my soulmate. The thought that this love story when we was teen-age was the best story. Now I can only blame myself for believing in the past. I have put aside the present at that moment to honor the past.

My sentimental life seems to go from one mistake to another. If happiness is the result of good decisions in your love life, then I would have to surrender, I would never be happy. Ever again.

When I was back at the gym last week and waiting for this dear friend, I realized that I had no choice to avoid pain. Could I make this past with “him” present again and put the present of the other past behind ? When I came home last week after seeing my dear friend at the gym I got back to my blog. 14 months were put on hold to live the other past. Worse thing in all of this is that I don’t even know what the word “soulmate” means. The one I believe was my soulmate only makes me suffer and the one who was unable to give me more than a conceptual love understands me more than anyone else.

Which past to choose ?

Routine

The alarm of the clock on the wall was set to end each training session after five minutes. 9pm sharp he finished the training and came toward me. I was sitting at the reception area. He touched me from behind the neck and asked if I would like something to drink. He said that the coffee here was good and strong. I said: No thanks. Wait for me I will go shower, he added.

Before he left for the shower he introduced me to the owner of the gym and his partner, then some of his sparring partners. When he came back he asked me if I wanted to visit the gym. I said yes. He told me that he liked the color of the wall, a kind of old pink color. He said he came here every evening, mostly because he is the principal coach but also because this place is his second home.

We left the gym and waited for the bus to come. The night was bright as it was full moon. It was not cold at all for a month of October. We went downtown for a drink. He did not talk a lot this time. Normally when we met each other he seemed happier. He told me not to worry as he was not in good shape. I told him that it was okay, we don’t need to talk a lot. For some reason I did not feel the need to talk a lot either. We had each of us a green tea. We looked at each other in silence. But there was no embarrassment in the silence. For the first time since we have known I asked first if we could leave. The idea of seeing him with a sad face made me even sadder than him. It was 11.30 pm. The last bus would be only in one hour. Usually we stayed until there was no more buses passing by. He said ok and held my hands for less than thirty seconds. We walked slowly to a square where all the buses stop. My bus arrived first. I kissed him very quickly on the cheek and entered the bus. He waved at me and sent me a kiss. I smiled at him and waved back.

Later in the night he wrote to me a private message on Facebook: “I am sorry. Bad mood lately. Always a pleasure to see you…”

I answered him early in the morning: “Don’t be sorry. It was nice seeing you though I never like to see you down…”

Then I opened my blog and wrote again after one year and four months of absence. About him. My inspiration.

Later on during the day I wrote him a long letter. I did not say in the letter how much I still love him. Just how much I care.

Later on that night he sent me a good-night song just like he did every night since one year and four months.

Waiting at the gym

The bus 31 took me to his gym. I have never taken the bus 31 to go to this side of the city. Eleven stops from the station. He was waiting for me at 9pm. I arrived in front of the gym at 8.10pm. There was nothing around this area except one small Migrolino – the equivalent of a 7 Eleven in the US. There were only buildings for offices with no light inside. And above the main street where his gym is located you can see a bridge illuminated in the night. I have never been to this part of the city. I was way too early so I went to buy a small coffee at the Migrolino shop. I bought a take-away Starbucks coffee whose taste was disgusting. I crossed the street and found myself in front of the gym. No one in front. No one inside of the hall. I saw the name of the gym on the first door on the left. 8.20 pm. I entered the gym and said to a man sitting at the reception desk: I am a friend of S. He answered: Oh yes please come in, he is just there.

I took off my shoes and entered the room, sitting on a sofa, facing the training area. Here he was. On the floor with a sparring partner. He waved at me and smiled and got back to a jiujit-su position. I have not seen him for three months. And most importantly, I have not written about him for more than a year. Suddenly I felt a big wave of confused feelings all over me. I was happy to see him again. After all, he is my dear friend. I was scared to feel something more than a friendship again. And what I was afraid to face was very real at the moment I saw him on the mat. I was not indifferent. Something did happen inside of me. But I tried to avoid to put a name on it.

Here he was. The man with the eyes which carry the whole humanity like I have always thought. I could see those eyes from far. I opened a book on the table and browsed it slowly. I tried to avoid to look at him train. I have never seen him train. For all those years I had no occasion to come and see him train at the gym although he had asked me more than once.

Three months ago we had dinner at my place. With his parents. When the parents left, he told them he would stay and help me clean the kitchen. We washed the dishes together. When we finished he grabbed me and kissed me. The kiss lasted forever. I kissed him back. My kiss lasted more than forever. We were friends. We had stopping being lovers for a while already. Then the kiss in the kitchen. A kiss which is not sexual. He did not stay. Though he could. I could invite him to stay though. The kiss was the one of regrets, of affection or love, the kind of love which carries the universe, which gives you the world. His kiss was that kind of kiss. And that kind of friendship.

I was still sitting on the sofa, watching him train, remembering his kiss in my kitchen. 8.46 pm. In less than ten minutes he would finish the training and would come towards me and his hand would touch my neck as a sign of greeting me.

And this is the way our friendship goes now after having been everything together. I would say hi to him and catch furtively one of his fingers.

It is always here

Rapperswil

No matter how far I travel

No matter how many strangers I have  met

This is here my home

It is always here

As it is always you

The beauty elsewhere

The excitement elsewhere

The novelty elsewhere

My distraction could be a second even a minute

It is always here

And it is always you

In the end

Rapperswil1

What do you see ?

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Your eyes are mystery

In half words

In half smiles

I wish I could understand you more

Before we said goodbye

We suspended time

We froze time

For another time

In your eyes

In colors

In black or white

What is the color of your soul?

Your eyes are imagination

Enough to drive me crazy

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The Great Gatsby or something else ?

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“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced–or seemed to face–the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.” (The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald)

It is difficult not to like the new “The Great Gatsby” movie, simply because the text written by Fitzgerald was so beautiful. I read the book at high-school. I remember I did not understand the whole meaning of it. I was seventeen. I remember having an oral exam on the book and had to talk about Daisy. Last night when I saw the movie I realized that by the time I did not even realize that Gatsby was that much in love with Daisy. I did not remember at all the pain and love of Gatsby in the 1974 movie with Redford and Farrow. But this time it hit me so strong. Maybe because I am in love and I can now fully understand the kind of love and obsession Gatsby had for Daisy. For a moment I felt a bit uncomfortable during the movie. I was irritated because I was with a friend and when the movie ended I just wanted to be by myself and stay in silence but he kept asking me my opinions about the movie. I found the movie beautiful because each word written by Fitzgerald made sense to me. More by now than when I was seventeen. I finally understood Gatsby and the book. I felt pain because Gatsby’s dream pursuit was so absolute and impossible. It was unbearable to see such unique belief in love, in dreams, in conquests. I was touched and that was probably why I liked this new version of The Great Gatsby. I found it explicit, exuberant and extremely modern. Showing love in that way is attractive to me. But at night I had an very agitated sleep.

This morning I decided to go for a walk in the park to get for my mind some fresh air. The movie of yesterday evening still got into me. I walked through the park and took only pictures of the flowers. It was raining and cold for the month of May. But the colors of the flowers were absolutely perfect. In spite of  the grey sky the flowers still looked magical. It was strange. My eyes and my body were not in harmony because I got cold after a while but my eyes were completely satisfied with what I saw. It went on like that, this strange feeling during the whole time I was walking through the park. It made me think of my love for him. It is not always in harmony with what I think, with my brain but it does not matter. Sometimes my body feels pain of missing him, but my heart is so blessed that it does not matter. It was like the cold my body felt in the park. The imperfection of the moment. Yet the eyes were still captivated by the beauty of the flowers. My love for him is like the flowers in the park under the cold rain. A perfection remains in harmony with the imperfection of the situation. photo-152

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Then my mind wandered back to the movie. I felt like Gatsby. Full of hopes and dreams and illusions. Innocence. Purity. Was it because of the movie? Or the book? Or the nature? Or the flowers? Or the love for him ? Or simply a bit of all of it together? I did not know the answer, yet it felt good that way.

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Flow and waves

“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven’t loved enough.” (The Forty Rules of Love – Elif Sharaf)

To the people who say that I am obsessed about you, I answered I am indeed.

To the people who say that I might scare you away with my love, I answered I might indeed.

To the people who say that you are probably used to my love by now, I answered you probably are indeed.

I love you enough to bear any thoughts about us.

Loving you is like running toward the ocean, seeing the waves and throwing myself in them, letting the waves caressing my body over and over again, with no resistance.

Loving you is not only like living the flow of our story, but being the whole time the flow itself, inventing the story, inventing us, holding us in my hands, yet with no control.

But that is the difficult part to explain so I let the people think whatever they think about us. Somehow I had become the flow and the waves, taking everything about us with me. And this a long time ago.

I see you

lac

You know how much I like you?

When I am with other men, talking, laughing, socializing, I can see you in their eyes, in the curves of their eyebrows. I can see you looking at me and smiling to me. When they laugh, I see you.

When I walk down the street, I see an old man on a bench, eyes in the sky, I see you. I see a mother with a stroller, I see you. I see a kid with an ice cream, I see you. I see myself rubbing it to your face and licking the ice cream melting on your broken nose.

When people wish me luck to find a new man, I see you. I see myself answering them: “I had found this guy”.

You know how much I like you?

I like you as much as I can see you everywhere I go. My eyes have no other vision than you. And someday when you will disappear, I will fall into the dark of blindness. Till then, I let you be my vision, my universe, my infinity.

 

Behind that door

“Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. An ordinary statement, to be sure, but not an ordinary fact, for so few of us learn that love is tenderness, and tenderness is not, as a fair proportian suspect, pity; and still fewer know that happiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another: one has always to love a good many things which the beloved must come only to symbolize; the true beloveds of this world are in their lovers’s eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child’s Sunday, lost voices, one’s favourite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.” (Other Voices, Other Rooms – Truman Capote)

These last days I could not formulate a single word about us. I felt so comfortable, so quiet that it was impossible to express myself. Something has changed. The feeling that we are unbreakable. There are two kinds of love in this world. The one you live with the conviction that an end is waiting for you. No matter how hard you have tried to sweeten it, you can still see the end of the tunnel, with no light beyond. Then there is a kind of love that just goes on and on. You don’t need to do anything about that. It is just like an unlocked door. You just need to push it and you are on the other side. And on the other side, there is light, there is the fresh air, there is the flowers’ incense.

These last days I walked through that door. My eyes were not dazzled. My heartbeats were regular. My ears did not buzz. My sleeps were not agitated. The sun was always there in me. The warmth envelopped me. My heart was quiet. It did not shout. It did not cry. I have recognized once again true love without having him on the other side of the door. He is just in me. Breathing him like an evidence. Breathing my life without suspecting that one day something wrong could happen to us. The butterflies in my stomach have gone. The dizziness has gone. The place where my heart lives in is empty because true love does not need a place to contain it. True love is just everywhere in me and outside. Behind that door that I’d pushed to finally reach him and to accept us as we are.

I finally belong to where we are. I don’t give him my love. I don’t take it back. It is there. Like the sun right now when I look outside of the window. There are days with and there are days without. I stopped searching for the sun. I stopped looking for the beauty of love. Everything is intrinsic. Like the sun right now. Even behind my sunglasses it still frees the same powerful longlasting glare. True love has this effect. You don’t get burned. You don’t get blind. You get better. Day by day.

I am back and not cured from love

I am back and not cured from love.

Worse than ever. No, better than ever. Love is all over me. In my head. In my heart.

Things are simple but I did not always get it.

When a story is not finished, it is simply not finished. You don’t fight love. You cannot fight love. It’s something you just feel and have to accept.

You don’t “unlove” when you decide to “unlove”. There is no cure for love.

I wanted to close the blog. I wanted not to talk about love anymore. I wanted to let him go. There is nothing to do. I just can’t.

Everything will always be about him until it will naturally stops. How could I not understand it earlier? I spent the last two weeks, trying to be rational. The more I tried, the more I suffered. It was only when I surrendered my love that I was fine again.

He understood this before me. He could not let me go. We accepted our curse. Maybe one day. Maybe never. I look at the world. It is way better with him in my mind.

My only way to live and to find peace is to love him. Moving on is not a solution. Maybe one day this love will die. For now it is lively, it makes me breathe. I just have to accept it.

The end of the blog

Today I will say goodbye to you. For a while. I hope I could be back for this blog. But I am not sure when and if I could ever come back.

I have been putting myself in this blog. Creating a world parellel to mine. The real one. Stories written were inspired by real and fictional characters, sometimes the posts were more real, sometimes the posts were more from my imagination.

The world of the blog, I have invented it with poetry, songs, and sounds from my heart. I have started the blog to canalize all my feelings for love. I have started the blog to pay tribute to love and the love stories I had lived or imagined. In the past. In the present.

I have loved a man since the day one of the blog. Parallel with the blog, my love and myself have grown up. Day after day. In his presence. In his absence. In our friendship. In something unique.

Today we decided to say goodbye. How many times in the past when I imagined our last day together I have always imagined myself in pain and sadness. Today is our last day together as a friend, as lovers. And I have felt nothing such as pain. I am more than ready.

This blog has helped me elevate this love to a sublime state and state of mind. I have beautified him and my love for him. I have beautified them every single day in the blog. Until today when I realized that I had done all the possible for this imaginary world between him and me and the blog. The outside world between him and me is not beautiful enough for me to keep on being inspired.

I could not continue as I don’t see myself writing about love in sadness, in bitterness. I could not continue as my hero is not anymore a hero to my eyes. Our story has become common. Drown in fear and insignificant feelings and exchanges. I am not inspired anymore. I feel only emptiness. Not pain.

I let the love go. I let everything go. The physical pain has not shown up yet. I am prepared. Ready. This blog has helped me in everything and I thank you all for reading me the whole year long.

I will be back the day I am cured. But ain’t there any cure for love?

Once again thank you for all the support. It was an exquisite world being in here with you. The blog has helped me more than anything else.

Lovers in all colors

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Before yesterday

Lovers under the sun

Yesterday

Lovers under the wind

Today

Lovers under the drizzle

Rainbow comes then disappear

Lovers in yellow

Lovers in blue

Lovers in white

Dancing waiting

Wondering

Swirling in the change of seasons

She is one of them

Dancing waiting

Not wondering

She is the lover who holds the rainbow

Standing still and strong

Defying the whirlwind

Offering him serenity

In the color of his choice

***

Painting “Lovers in blue” by Marc Chagall

Ask her if she prefers…

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Ask her if she prefers the warmth without him

Ask her if she prefers the sun without him

Ask her if she prefers summer 365 days a year without him

Ask her if she prefers the money, the luxury, diamonds and gold without him

The cold is warm with him

The rain is fun with him

The winter 365 days a year is easy to bear with him

With him life is simple

Appearances, superfluous values, materialistic dreams

Nothing counts, nothing matters

She shines with him in no diamonds and gold

With him she can live out of nothing

Like in the old days

When only love is enough

Like the French proverb:

“Living only out of love and fresh water”

Ask her if she prefers…

And the answer is already clear…

“I prefer nothing without him”

Sounds common

But that’s just it.

***

Painting “Lovers on the bench” of Marc Chagall (1911)

And the bus is here…

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Most of the times you don’t like to miss the bus late in the night because the following one would come in at least 20 minutes. And when it is cold, and when it is raining, you just want to get home as quickly as possible as your day was already too long.

But sometimes the “most of the times” does not work. You just miss the bus. The next one is indeed in 20 minutes. But this time you don’t mind. Because he is there, waiting with you. It is cold. It is raining. You have never been that happy that you had missed the bus. You have never been that grateful that the wait was at least 20 minutes. You even wish for the bus to come later than scheduled. You would not mind at all. It is cold. It is raining.

You get soaked in his arms. Each kiss is wet of tenderness. He holds you tight. All the year long, you hate the rain, you hate the cold. Now the cold is your ally, the rain your best friend. You feel like a heroin in an old movie. You feel like you are in front of your hero. You feel his lips. Over and over again. The 20 minutes are the worthiest ones to live, the worthiest ones on the planet “Time”.

You feel like a kid. You feel like an adolescent falling in love for the first time. You feel like an accomplished woman knowing when it is true love. You want to say something. But there is no need to say anything. Your eyes mean any expression of love all together.

19 minutes. 18 minutes. 17 minutes.

Three seconds.  Two seconds. One second.

The bus is here. One last kiss. After how many kisses. 19 minutes. 60 seconds in a minute. One kiss a second. 1’140 kisses. Or something like that. The last kiss. You feel it like a deep cut.

You enter the bus. You wave at him. In the rain he waves back. He is magisterial. He is majestic. You turn your head. You cannot stand anymore this view of him. Your chest is exploding. You know this kind of romantism would kill you if you continue. You know that this kind of love is the best but also the worst. You touch your lips. A bit numb of his kisses. You smell your fingers embalmed with his perfume. You look outside. The rain is still there. You count the raindrops and find them infinitely smaller than the amount of love you feel for him. You look outside. You love your city. You love the night bus. And everything he has seen with you.

The connection

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Beyond feelings, beyond love, she realizes that there is something even sweeter, more meaningful. It’s the connection, the link she has with people around her. People who are close to him first. People who are his loved ones. But there is more about that. It is not because of the love she feels for him. She does not come to them because of him.

The precious link like a thin invisible rope, yet strong, unique and magical which connects her to his loved ones. She has built with them a connection. Beyond him. And even if not with him. There is no such importance. His presence or absence in the connection is not to be considered. And even though she could not define the relationship she has with him. She can define the thing she has with his close ones. It’s all about connection. Far beyond him. Far beyond love. She appreciates seeing his loved ones and cares about them. Like her own family. She has adopted his loved ones. Not because of him. But she likes the way human beings care about each other, develop their relationship, strengthen the link, let grow the affection.

When she shares moments of her life with his family, she is glad to have met such nice persons. She has never thought that because they are his family. And this has nothing to do with love. And that is magical touch of the connection part. There is something extremely delicious in connecting. When she receives the good intentions from his family, she knows she is lucky.

Of course when she talks about him they see that her eyes are sparkling, her smile is more nervous. Of course that is unavoidable. She never wants to hide her feelings. Whoever in his family can perceive it, this is fine with her. She just never discusses with them about her relationship with him. Her love is kept in bashfulness, in decency. She would never discuss anything like that with them. Of course she is the one who could analyze him in details because she knows him by heart. And his loved ones can feel that. She could share a lot with them. Her childhood. Her memories. Her emotional injuries in the past. But not her love for him. This, they would have to guess or see only in her eyes. Or perceive it in her silence.

On both sides, what is delightful is the connection. The sharing, the sweet delicacy between adults, between human beings.

The link is marvelous and not fragile. The connection is easy. Far beyond love. Tenderness it is. With or without him in the equation. That is very important to her.

I trust the sun

jonquille

Powerful yet silken sun

I have found the right words

I have located the exact feelings

I have shaped the exact form

Sun like this

Let me know exactly what I need to know

I love you

Until the last ray of sun

Disappears by the end of the day

I still have a simple certainty

Things between us will always end in laughs anyway

Trust the sun

To dry out the tears

If tears ever come one day

I have found the right words today

I love you

And I trust the sun

 

 

I hope she dreams of him too…

An old friend came to visit me yesterday. A sunny afternoon welcome her. We sat outside, enjoying the sun the whole afternoon, starving for the sun after a very long and tough winter, talking about the old days when they used to share an office. I talked about my love. About the old days when we used to work the three of us together. My friend, my love and me on the same project, sharing our days. Everyday for two years long. I had my eyes wide open, sparkling under the sun, when I talked about him. My energy was overflowing. My enthusiasm was bursting. I mentioned his name in drunkenness. Without any alcohol drink. My excitement was free. The sun posed its warmth on my skin. A feeling of a feather. No more no less. I absorbed the sun and sent it back into words. Words of love. My friend looked at me. She said she had never seen me like that. I repeated again and again. A thousand of times. He is the best. He is great. I love him. No matter how. No matter what. My friend ordered a third glass of wine. She drank for me. For both of us. In my limitless love. In my unconditional love. She wished me the best. And said cheers to me. She said that he was different. He was like nobody else. And probably that was why I fell deeply in love with him. More sun caressed my face. I closed my eyes one second. Enough time to see him there. Moments like that I understood the deep meaning of love and eternity. One second of silence between me and the sun and him. The world was in order. I was untouchable. Unbreakable. Invincible.

My friend said that she would probably dream of him at night too. Because I talked so much about him. For me dreaming of him was sure thing. No night is different from the others. Every night I dream of him. No matter how I had spent my day. At two in the morning, his mail arrived. I saw it and jumped like a kid on the couch. I shouted out of happiness. My friend laughed out loud. I was still jumping on the couch. And shouted: I love him. Don’t you see it.

I said good night to my friend, went to bed. Listened to his song. My favorite one ever. A whiter shade of pale of Procol Harum. I closed my eyes. Slowly. “Would you dance with me on this song, my love?”. That was my last thought. No, the last thought was actually: “I hope she dreams of him too. He is the best. She will have the best dream ever.”

PS: this is one of my favorite moments in life – when the sun is shining that much, I am with my coffee, writing a post about him, looking outside – my street is still quiet.

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Old notes

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Would you be my last dance?

Dancing through the same song

Of the broken record

Would you agree to love me madly?

Loving me through the same life

Of a mended heart

Would you promise to dissipate the clouds?

To bring back the sun

Would you mind if I ask?

In my old notes written after our first meeting

“Damn, he is the best…”

After a few hours with you

Would you mind not to change?

My old notes have changed color, look like years ago

Yesterday I wrote a new line, but an easy one

“he is the best…still”

Would you accept to be nothing

To cherish the “you and me”

I have nothing to lose

But ask

My old notes had agreed so

Even dusty and colorless

But old notes never lie

A good person

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Truth is I cannot find anything about you that I don’t like. When people talk about you, when people mention your name, like a kid, like an adolescent first time in love, I feel butterflies. I think I know you better than anyone else. I am in your head. I am in your tortured mind. I am in your good and generous soul. You do not need to open up to me. I read you. I imagine you in your room, the same room as when you were a kid. I see you reading. I see you thinking. And reading, and thinking, and absorbing the world in your body. I wish I could help you in lightening the world, coloring the view from your eyes. I wish I could carry with you a bit of those thoughts.

Things we cannot change alone, we will change together. I wish we had time for that.

I have never loved someone this way. I have never loved someone like I love you now. Everything is about you in this love. I have not once wanted you to think of me. It is enough for me to imagine you. To see you. In your mind and in mine.

The butterflies I feel are never about me. The butterflies I feel in my stomach when I know you are happy, when you are in peace. It is never about what you gives to me.

I wish I could be there to listen more often to your aspirations. I regret sometimes I neglect that part. I wish I could be there more often. Simply more often.

Truth is there is nothing else to say more than just the love for you. As much as I could analyze, look into the “problem”, there is only that one truth. When people talk about you, when people mention your name, I blush. I love you more than my skin. I love you more than my life. There is nothing I dislike about you. As much as I could think. You are a such a good person.

Yes, you are such a good person. I see you. Butterflies. Blushing. I love a good person. I love, love, and love. A good person. It is fundamentally important.

What you could like

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At first I thought it was spring rain

But then I still felt the cold

I thought of you when it started to rain

I thought of you again when a timid ray of sun tried to shadow the raindrops

I thought of you because the cold would frighten you

I knew exactly how you would feel in the cold

The weak ray of sun would make you smile

I thought I knew what would make you happy

I looked at the world

Thinking of you

No details could escape my mind

I thought of what you could like and not like

Even mundane details

Like the rain tonight

I guessed

You thought of me sometimes

I guessed

You loved me sometimes

And little by little

I observed you

No details could escape my mind

Even mundane details

Something told me

That you loved me sometimes

And little by little

Day after day

While I love you

All the time

Fulminantly

Right from the beginning

I felt the spring rain

The shy ray of sun still there

Caressing my cheeks

I felt the warmth

And everything you could like

The sweet and warm taste of the raindrops

Playing with the sun

Convinced me

I was part of what you like too

She had died and resuscitated with only his voice

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I’m just following the plan that has already been laid out. Continuing to live, alone, in this unreasonable world – where there are two moons in the sky…(..) the only choice I have is to believe that Tengo will return to this playground, and to wait here patiently until he does. I can’t leave – this is the only point of contact between him and me. (IQ84 – Haruki Murakami)

She tasted hell. She tasted heaven. In just a few hours. Love was a weak word. She did not even understand what had happened to her. The love was immense, huge, unbelievable. She knew there was something almost insane about her love. People around her started to live this love too. She was contagious. The pain she had felt inside her muscles and bones slowly spread out around her, reaching her people. Her friends started to panic with her. She spread out her doubts, her questions, her insecurity. Nobody could reason her. Everybody turned out nervous and almost insane like her, by the end of the day. Until she could hear his voice, she could not breath. She had not eaten the whole day. She had not drunk anything else than two coffees early in the morning. She had no appetite. She tried to be normal, walking to downtown, doing some groceries, trying to act normally. Second after second. Minute after minute. She felt more and more uncomfortable. She needed so much to hear his voice. She understood vaguely what people said to her. The cashier asked her three times to pay. She stood there. Looking at something in front of her. It could be anything. Nothing really mattered. She walked out of the store, like a zombie. She felt like she had already died and she was just carrying her body around town. A body with no senses, no reactions. She had lost her mind. At the precise moment. She could cry but nothing came out. She tried to get hold of some friends. Nobody answered. She felt very weak again. She could hear her heart, begging her to let the brain win, for once. Please. The heart begged her for rest, for peace. She could not help but promise.

Until she could hear his voice. His sweet, same old as usual voice. Until she could talk to him. And tell him: where are you ?

Until she could hear his voice. And hear him laugh. During the call, she remembered having said to him: I love you, could you feel it ? Could you feel it?

She lost consciousness for a few seconds after that call. The love was immense, huge, unbelievable. Within a few hours, she had died and resuscitated. With only his voice.

There was no idealization in her love but she had once called him God

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Today is his birthday.

She gathers all the words written through the last past year dedicating to him or an idea of him, whoever he is or could be.

This is LOVE through words:

I put on a Bach concerto, came closer to him, stopped all the words, let him kiss me and undress me. Was I on earth? Was I in heaven? Death, immortality, do I want to live forever for that moment? Or do I want to die right away after that kiss, that touch? I could say “yes” to all these questions.

With him, she had lost her cynical vision of a couple. With him, she had wished for routine. With him, she had never asked for the permission to leave.

Each fight scene in the movie made me wonder: is his broken toe still hurt? Does the cut above his left eye cicatrize well? Are his ears still swollen from all the fights? And all the other injures? Probably they are all scars by now.

Without you/ My shadow decomposed/ I tried to follow dots and spots /Of light/ To recompose myself of particles/ That you had once composed.

I split myself into two/ So me and my other self /We can both love you/ When one of us wants to walk away/ The other can stay and love you

Read my lips/I LOVE YOU/These words even in no sound/ Are still eternally made for you/ By me and only me

I whispered into his left ear “I love you” and put my hand on his right ear so that the sound of these three words could stay there forever. It was symbolic and it was my last word to him. I omitted on purpose the word “forever”. Because it will not be true.

If you can remember me/Remember the friendship/Because it was how we had started

I never learn from PAIN. Past sufferings never serve as a lesson. Though there was always a moment of hesitation because of fear. But then love always wins. I learn a lot from LOVE. One thing I learned from love was to accept its consequences. Including pain. Alas.

I never understand the meaning of “doing activities” or “doing new activities”/To change the ideas and to forget you or to think less of you/You are forever/Like the blue sky, like the green grass/There are things/That we cannot change

My legs shake/My body trembles/You hold me tight/We stand there/At the most romantic square in town/But for once it is all grey and melancholic/I kiss your lips/Wet of my tears/Why do you look so sad?/Because we are over/Or because tears and kisses/Are always a sad combination?

I am an ordinary person/I live an ordinary life/My thoughts are ordinary/The only thing extraordinary about me/Is my love for you/So I hang on to it day after day/Because deep down/I want to be extraordinary.

He looks at her. He has one expression. Sad. Sad and sad. Now he feels something. Sadness. His cup of coffee is empty. Her glass of wine is empty. She stands up, hails the waitress. He leans against her and puts his head against her belly. They stay like that for a while. They hear the wind, the leaves and the trees crying, as a sign of sympathy for their sad farewell. Sad love is in the air. Strong love is in her heart. Unique love is him. Like a silent tornado broken inside her.

I took my time to fall in love with you. I took my time to love you. There has never been any emergency. Nothing in me will ever turn into memories with you. Nothing was sudden. Nothing was impalpable.

With no intentions/No objectives/No confusion/No hurry/I love you/In no directions/In no blindness

You inspired me/Love combined with freedom/My soul has grown/Not even you can imagine/I am your disciple/In my love and your freedom

Tomorrow I go and get the sun for you/I will go and get enough of everything for you/Things you need and things you don’t need

I anticipate his actions/I anticipate his boredom/I anticipate his enthusiasm/I anticipate his feelings/I anticipate his pain/I see him in the dark/I hear him in silence/I read him without words

I am a flawed human being. With a perfect love. My heart is pounding. I bury doubts, questions. I give back the air, the oxygen, I have enough of everything to breathe. I defy loneliness. I can nourish myself out of this perfect love for you. That love which replaces air, sky, stars, rain, sun. I am a flawed human being who survives out of everything. Thanks to you.

I stayed exactly two minutes in front of the house, exactly at the same spot where we were kissing. I said to myself: “I had loved him exactly here. Ice is cold, roses are red. I fell in love exactly here.”

Love you floating/Love you breathing/Love you in apnea/Love you/ Losing my mind

Times I spent with him/Like vodka, like martini, like tequila, like sake/Times I spent with him/Like honey, like chocolate, like cupcakes

If I could catch a ray of sun/I would wrap it in my frozen hands/And sent it to you in a postal letter/In an old way with envelop and stamp

How can/could I love that much? Loving that much just empties you all inside. But I don’t feel empty at all. I feel lucky somehow. So many things had happened in between. Between this first post and all the other ones in my blog. However the power of that love just stands out among all other things.

******

No strategy would ever work in love

No strategy would ever work when you are in love.

Silence – Indifference – Scream – Deafness – Death

No theory – No analysis – Nothing works

When your heart is in command

Behind each door you open is a maze

All paths are dead end

You had never thought that your brain could be that useless

You wish there was a miracle

That would make you fall out of love

Fill your ears with music

Surround yourself with sweetness

Thanks God for giving you the capacity to love

Or get angry with Him for giving you such curse

No strategy would ever work when you are in love

So just wait in hopelessness

Until the love would vanish

Or pray for it to die

Don’t blame yourself for being naive

Limit the collateral damage

Stop the bleeding

Say to yourself: “Next time I will better protect myself”

Knowing there will be no next time

How could she leave him?

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“It’s a terrible story. We worked so hard, so hard, building our world one brick at a time. And when it fell apart, it happened just like that. Everything was gone before you knew it.” (Norwegian Wood – Haruki Murakami)

She woke up this morning at 4am. Staying in bed she stared at the ceiling and started to think. There are a thousand of reasons that make people leave their partners, the loved ones. The majority of them is linked to the loved one’s personality, to how they had disappointed the other one, to what extent they had hurt the other one. Yes, most of the reasons derive from the actions, the words of the loved ones.  Most of the times that is precisely the trigger. The actions, the words, the personality.

This morning she woke up and knew that she was going to leave him. She had never doubted about his personality. She had loved him all these years for that personality. She loved his essence, his philosophy of life. She loved everything he had in him. He had disappointed her more than once. He had hurt her more than once. She accepted him as he is. She knew from the beginning that she had been doomed to love him unconditionally. Nothing that came from him, even the ugliest thing or habit of him, nothing could ever make her fall out of love. It was that kind of certainty of love she had experienced right from the beginning of the story with him.

But today she will leave him. How come? How could she leave him? Has she become insane after one night ? Has she lost her mind? She wants to be generous in love. She wants to love him more. She wants to be free to love him the way she wants. She wants to love him without strategy, without calculation. And she realizes that if she stays, for her love to survive she needs to be misely, to be less generous, to be common. To calculate. To resist. And she really hates it. She will need to jeopardize her whole personality to be with him. She will have to be someone else, someone whom she disregards; someone she will despise.

She had never realized that in spite of his amazing personality in everything in life, he had no capacity of receiving love. In everything else, he was exceptional. In receiving love, he was common and weak. He did not know how to prosper in love. He did not evolve in love. He was not receptive to beautiful gestures and feelings. Accepting him was fine for her. Staying with him and witnessing his insensitivity to love would perish her sooner or later. His space for love was narrow, incongruous. Her love for him was trapped in this narrowness. She felt imprisoned. Her love could not escape. Sooner or later it would become tasteless and common if she would not take care of it. Urgently.

She got out of her bed. She was not different from other people. Finally the reason that made her leave would be the same as that of anyone else. There was something from him. Indeed, this perfect personality. Her soul mate. He seemed to have a defect too. He did not know how to receive her love. Call it clumsiness, immaturity, selfishness, whatever. The fact remains that she could not stay to see their relationship turn into something common. She would never allow such deterioration.

The love will last forever. She knew it. And so do the perfection of this love. Call it dreamer, utopia, unrealistic, immaturity, whatever. That is just how she loves. The only way she knows.

Trust me

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“I really wanted to see you,” I said.

“And I really wanted to see you, too,” she said.

“When I couldn’t see you any more, I realized that. It was as clear as if the planets all of a sudden lined up in a row for me. I really need you. You’re a part of me I’m a part of you. You know somewhere -I’m not at all sure where- I think I cut something’s throat. Sharpening my knife, my heart a stone. Symbolically, like making a gate in China. Do you understand what I’m saying?” (Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami)

She ran after the past, chased ghosts, saw the wall in front of her, stopped, turned around and left. The past. First love never died, she knew it. But present love occupied her mind. She missed her present love. She has missed him so much the last few days. Like hell, she had missed him. She was not afraid to be back in the past because she was convinced of her present love. She tried to let him know that. She wished he would know too without her explanations and all her words the last few days. And he would feel that love, somehow. She was only afraid to have hurt him. By being in the past just for a while. But there was no doubt. There was never ever of any doubt. She might honor the past all these years. But she has offered her heart to the present now. To him. A long while now. Exactly the last nineteen months. In spite of the distance. This love has survived, has grown up. She has fed it with all her energy, devotion. All kind of sacrifices that would help to nourish that love. She loves her present. In its flaw, its suffering, its absence. She once told him: “I love you as an absence, and that will be forever”. There was no idealization in the process. but she had once called him God. She once wanted to tattoo his name on her chest. Because even though it could be the silliest thing to do, she knew she could always say: “I had once loved him as crazy. I love him to death. I tattoo his name because he will never be a regret or a mistake”.  Today her love has reached insanity, craziness, irreality. The present scares her. Not the past. The past was nothing compared to the present. She could go back to the past as long as she wanted. The past was nothing because she had lived it through. But would he understand that without her trying to explain? All she could say now is: “Trust me”.

First love never dies

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“When I fall in love, it will be forever”, Nat King Cole sang it. Probably true.

When you fall out of love, when you break up, when you stop seeing the other person, have you always thought that this person is out of your life forever? Or at least at that moment, you THINK that you are done with him/her. The story is over. The explanations are said. Then you move on with our life. You forget about him/her. Years go by, time passes by. You think of them sometimes. A scarce thought. Sometimes when you have time you even ask where they could be, what they would become, if they were happy in their lives. Sometimes you even wish to have a chance to see them again for a coffee and catch up. But mostly, you think that falling out of love with that person is a “done business”.

Have you ever experienced this? Suddenly you have news from them. Out of a sudden. And for a moment the person is back in your life, just as if you had never fallen out of love or left him/her. Suddenly every single thing you had lived with them is back again. All your memories with them are vivid, it was like yesterday. It was like you had always loved them. And they had always been part of your life, after all these years and you just need a trigger to put back together all the pieces of memories and puzzles inside your head. You run to the cellar and start to dig into your huge dusty old box with all his/her letters and read them all again. You don’t have the feeling of falling in love with them again. You have the feeling that you have never stopped loving them. That’s the funniest thing.

You see yourself again, like in a movie scene, when you had a huge fight together in the street, in January, you were in pajama, barefoot, freezing cold, and then after that fight you got a serious pneumonia for a month. You see yourself in that passionate love in your twenties. Sharing the first nice dinner out which was by the time a nice pizzeria because you just had enough money to go out for a fancy pizza when you were seventeen. Sitting in the cellar with all the dusty letters in fading ink you let yourself float together with these memories. You realize that you have loved a few times after that but surprisingly your other loves always have something exactly like this person you once loved deeply.

When you fall in love, it will be forever, probably true.

They are never completely out of your life if they were once important to you. The ones who had counted. They never really disappear. They somehow are always there. Of course there are only very few of them. For me it was just one. My first love. First love never dies. No matter how. It has just been stored somewhere in my heart. The old box of letters will stay in the cellar. I leave it there. I read all the letters once again. I don’t miss any details. I remember everything. First love does not die. It just rests.

The love that is not a cliché

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I don’t mind if you say no

I say yes for both of us

I don’t mind if you are not there

I am there for both of us

I invent a new language

I reverse the time zones

I make rain

I make blue sky

I bring water to the desert

I plant flowers on the volcano

I move the mountains

For you

A cliché ?

No no no

Not a cliché

I fashion the world at your taste

I bribe God

To get you the best of the best

Morning scream in music

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A midnight blue, day and night
I’ve been missing you
I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
Almost makes me crazy
Come and live with me

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near
I wrote you a letter, I tried to make it clear
That you just don’t believe that I’m sincere
I’ve been thinking about you, baby

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near

I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
I want you to live with me

This morning I woke up. Definitely calmer than yesterday. Or at least it was the first impression. As soon as my eyes got the first light of the day from a tiny slit of the shutter, an acute pain squeezed my chest but short, quick pain. I projected myself to the future. Something I have never done for months now. Thinking of the future. The thought of the future. Future that meant to be in five week time. When he will be leaving again. His date of departure has not yet been set. But its certainty is undeniable.

I put on this song of Massive Attack. I just discovered it a few days ago. The song penetrated my skin, soaked into my bones. I felt cold. The voice was groaning and moved me deep. Maybe it was circumstantial but each word was cutting me into pieces. “A midnight blue, day and night I’ve been missing you I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby Almost makes me crazy Come and live with me Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near I want you to live with me “.  I could groan in a same hoarse voice mixed with sobs and tears and nobody could distinguish the sadness of the song or that of my soul.

I felt another round of punches. I squeezed tight my pillow, put it over my stomach and wrapped myself, smothered under the blanket. Acute pain, longer, more insistent. He will go away soon. I stayed in the fetus position, my way to protect myself from suffering. For a long while. I could hear the ticking sound of the alarm clock. Like a count-down. Each ticking seemed to count the days left before he is gone again. Each regular ticking sound mixed with the deep regular moaning sound of the song in perfect harmony, sentencing the end of my happiness. For a short while, I had the feeling that I had flirted with a slow death. The feeling of losing him again. Seeing him going away. Again. Seeing him going in another direction, in another part of the world. In this big world we had crossed paths for a second. Just for a second. I heard myself screaming. I screamed the unfairness of life. Of love. Of everything.

The scream lasted with the last note of the song. I disappeared in my large bed. No more sound suddenly. The room fell into silence. But I could still hear my love for him.

I did it…

I calculate how long it would take to cover your body with kisses.

I would pose my lips on each millimeter of your skin.

Each kiss would last one second.

It would take six hours. At least.

I would not leave out any part of your body.

I would take pleasure in doing it.

I would look at you in the eyes from time to time.

I would smile at you from time to time.

You would let me do it.

You would smile at me.

You would smile at me with your eyes.

You would kiss my hands.

You would return some of my kisses

By kissing me even longer and softer.

This would not be a dream.

As

I did it.

Eight hours.

Between talks.

Laughs.

And love.

I did cover your body with kisses.

Every inch.

You did return my kisses, each of them.

This was not a dream.

In between I remembered saying: I love…

Just “I love…” and no more words

I remembered you saying: “do you…”

And no more words.

This was not a dream.