The therapist says…(1)

The therapist is not confused. He is very clear about your feelings for Him. You are the one who is confused. Sometimes you agree with the therapist. Sometimes you are not. Sometimes your feelings for Him are like the blue crystal clear sky. So clear. So blue. Not a cloud. Sometimes your feelings for Him are like clouds dancing around in the sky, one cloud playing with another, one cloud smiling at the other one. One cloud saying to another one: “So, are you missing him today?”, the other cloud answers: “Always”. Then one point for the therapist who might be right. In the end.

You write Him with an “H” capital”. Capital because it is Important like Him, it is Huge like Him, it is Amazing like Him, it is Special like Him. OMG.

You pay the therapist to challenge you. You are not supposed to agree with each other. If you say “white” the therapist is supposed to say “black” and let you think hard if it is really “black”. The subject of Him, you two agree on one thing. The Him is important to you.

You spend most of your sessions talking about Him. Money well spent you hope. Smile. It is not that the analyses about Him are endless. It is just because you are sometimes so confused and yet sometimes very sure about things related to Him and yourself. The therapist is paid to have strong nerves. Smile. Your story could be an experiment for a new medication invented to cure impatience and irrationality.

Your mom is not confused. She met Him once. No doubt for her. He is the coolest.

The therapist and the mom are sure. They know He is not available. And you too.

The therapist tells you to talk to Him about that. Your mom thinks there is nothing to say about that. Your mom prefers a gorgeous, charismatic man who is not there than a dull ugly one but very present.

You are the one who is confused. Not them. What if He was more available but lacks of conversations? What if He was more present but his personality is like an empty black board?

You wonder if there were men in the average range in this world. Men who are not ugly, who are not dull, who can be a bit present, a bit absent when needed, who can be interesting.

You wonder if you should let Him be a reference for you. In the world of dating. Would it ruin your dating life? Talking about your dating life. Do you have one? Even if you change the big capital “H” of “He” and “Him” into a small insignificant “he”, it would not change much for your dating life. Do you care? Not really. Does your therapist care? Not really. And your mom? Not at all. For some reasons your mom is the most irrational one in this matter. Once she did not talk to you for almost three weeks when you went on a coffee date with a guy. It was like you could hurt Him if He knew about this silly short coffee date.

Then here we are, reaching the chapter of “could He be hurt or not if you go on dates?”.

The therapist says that you are wrong thinking that He does not give a damn about you.

Let’s hold on this thought for now….

The therapist says…

***Your therapist says that it is difficult to work with you because you analyze your sentimental life based on two false theories. The first one is that you think Mr Milan (in Sex and the City Mr Big could be the equivalent of Mr. Milan) does not give a damn about you. The second one is that you keep on denying you are in love with Mr. Milan.

When you tell Mr. Milan what your therapist has said, Mr. Milan asks: “And you? What do you think?”

You answer: “If the therapist says so, then probably he is right”.

***Your therapist asks if you feel pain when you leave Mr. Milan. Pain seems to be a sign of being in love. Butterflies in the stomach too. Pain you feel after an instant separation, pain you feel even if you know you would see Mr. Milan again and the separation is not a definitive one. You answer: “No, not really“.

When you tell Mr. Milan what your therapist has said, Mr. Milan says: “It is stupid, you should never feel pain when you are in love”. Then he adds: “Do you feel pain when you leave me?”. You answer: “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.”

***Your therapist says that you should be more emotional and open up and tell Mr. Milan more about how you feel. When you tell Mr. Milan what the therapist has said, Mr. Milan says: ” But you open up to me. We are all emotional. Some can show it and some cannot.”

***At breakfast time, Mr. Milan: “Do you still love me?”.

You: “I do. I will. Always. And you?”.

Mr. Milan: “Of course, I do. It would never last that long otherwise”.

***At dinner time, Mr. Milan asks: “Why did you break up with me?”.

You : “I want to move on. Some changes.”

Mr. Milan: “It is absurd“.

You: “You wished me happiness in the mail. You said we will always be friends. You seemed fine“.

Mr. Milan: “What could I say? I had no choice. I just accept that. I told myself you are in love with someone else. No, I was not fine. It hurt like fu*king hell. What do you think?”

***This morning you wake up and you feel pain. The pain is there. The therapist was wrong. You accept the pain. You do not live in denial. The pain of missing Mr. Milan. Yesterday morning, you were in his arms. Yesterday morning you could not breathe because he held you so tight. You were glad that July mornings in your city are cold because the heat of his body warmed you up so intensely. This morning, the pain is there even if you will see him again. You do not need to be more emotional to feel the pain. In the stomach. The pain. Everywhere. The pain. Inside the heart. The pain.

***When the therapist asks if you feel pain when you leave Mr. Milan. You answer: “No, not really”. You are a liar.

***When Mr. Milan asks if you feel pain when you leave him. You answer: “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” You are a liar.

You always feel pain. You are in love. You always feel pain. That is what lovers carry on their shoulders. Pain.

And now you will have to start from scratch…

He said that now you will have to start from the beginning. He said that things could not be taken for granted. It was difficult to know if he was serious or half joking. He was laughing out loud while saying it. No one, especially you, ever knew anything about him. In doubt, let’s say, he was half serious and half joking.

You know that you have never taken anything for granted. You also know that you do not really know how to begin again after two years and almost a half. When you wrote this letter to him, claiming that you would like to move on and have another life and so on and so on, you felt like right there, that was the moment you should start from scratch. But a beginning for yourself not for him and you. Walking away and not looking back. Being indifferent to all marvelous memories. Forgetting everything with him.

You felt that act like going through a storm, with unknown outcome and maybe the death of your soul would be the only outcome possible. You did not know if you ever survived that storm, maybe you came out of it alive, maybe dead, it did not matter, as you could not define what it was. All you know was that the moment the letter was sent to him, you knew it was a mistake, it was not worth going through such death to be able to live again.

He told you that you would need to start from scratch. He was right. And he was right there. You did not know if he ever felt hurt about the letter. He told you he did. But could you believe him or it was again just a joke.

You will have to prove your love to him again. You were the one who walked away. He thought you walked away because you wanted more. You did want something more, but you could not define it yet. More enjoyable memories to have. More of a romance. More of a connection. What more than all that ? What is ever better than a connection and a romance? Probably nothing.

You will have to prove why you want to come back to him. Tear the letter. Ask him to forget the letter. Tell him that the “walking away operation” is aborted. Is it already “starting from scratch”? What would you have to prove to him more? Having dinner with him and saying that you are here again. You did start from scratch.

What would he expect from you? His hands on the other side of the table, he would not reach out to you until you gave him your hands. He would not kiss you on your cheeks until you came to him and offered him yours. He would not ask you to come back to his place after dinner if you did not ask for it. He repeated at least three times: “you will have to start from scratch... “. After all he was right, even now you did not know about his intentions with you. The only intention you knew about him was that when you asked to see him for dinner to explain and he did take the first flight to be back in town to see you. Everytime you asked him something, he accepted that thing. And all of that after the letter. The breakup letter.

You will have to start from the beginning. He will show you how. You hope. Forget the letter. See him. Cherish him. Love him. Is that the beginning ? Of everything…Most of the times….

We are all fucked up but you broke up

What if he did not exist?

If he did not exist, other men would seem less tasteless, more colorful, less odorless.

If he did not exist, he would do other men a tremendous favor as they would finally be able to exist for a moment with you.

But he did exist.

So what is that special about him ?

His powerful concrete buildings in between dreams and brutalism?

His silver rebellious hair?

His tanned arms under his grey t-shirt?

His green eyes and his “you will be knocked out” gazes when he looks at you?

Or simply his forever unavailability?

But he did exist.

And you are fucked.

When you tell him that: “what if you did not exist?”

He would answer: “we are all fucked up but you broke up”

You would answer back: “i tried to be normal”

To survive, to live, to love, to breathe

Pretending he did not exist.

The dice games

You say goodbye to him on a train that crosses central Italy for Switzerland. After having spent eleven days with him. Eleven days during which the longest separation time for both of you was approximately three hours when he had his tennis lessons.


On this train that will bring you home, the scenery seems to unfold under your eyes more slowly than the time you have left with him, until your first connection and change of train. In the meantime, the laughter continues. He continues to tease you like during these eleven days. He suggests to playing dice games. He taught you to play these games during the first weekend spent together.

While winning a dice game requires both a certain strategy and a dose of luck with the throws of dice, the relationship you maintain with him is free of all strategies. To remain honest with your feelings, you never use any games or strategies in relationships. Any calculation in love and relationship seems futile even though love could sometimes be part of the rationality and controlled, up to a certain degree, to avoid suffering.


In this dice game, you lose more often than you win. You laugh about it. You repeat this well-known saying: “bad luck in games, lucky in love”. Innocently, even now, you still prefer to lose in games, believing that it would give you luck in love.


The time you have left to play dice with him is running out. In less than fifteen minutes, you will have to get out of the train and say goodbye.


He holds your hands and kisses you. He kisses your hands. He laughs with his eyes. He also laughs because he won. The laughing eyes of a winner can have the same tenderness as any laughing eyes in normal situations. It is difficult to distinguish. You only know that these are the same eyes and gazes that have accompanied you during the last eleven days. It does not matter much whether he is smiling because he has won the dice game or because he is just happy to be with you. The outcome is the same. For both of you. Happiness comes equal.

You arrive at your destination within four minutes. His lips against yours. More than once. You cannot count. There are many kisses. The goodbye kinds.


You get off the train. A taste of sadness overwhelms you. You slowly taste the sensations of nostalgia. What is today a separation of a few weeks will tomorrow be that of long months awaiting you. Saying goodbye to him and seeing him again in a little while is dizziness. A foretaste of what might be later when he leaves Switzerland. For a long time.
A foretaste of pain. And suffering.

Feet, please!

He stands behind the kitchen counter. He wears a black undershirt. They are in the middle of winter and his skin is golden, the color of the sun. Or the color of honey. It depends on the intensity of the light. His shoulders are well defined and well muscled. He insists, however, that he has never worked out that few lately. They are still in the midst of a lockdown. He looks happy, cutting the onions and preparing a sauce for the pasta. He sips from time to time the wine. He gives her a small glass, knowing she will drink nothing, like all the other times. A few hours before, he asked her what she would like to have for dinner. She answered: pasta. She has missed his pasta for a while. When the sauce is almost done, she tries to taste it but in a cute gesture, he does not let her. He always wants it to be a surprise when he serves her the dish.

He asks her questions about her job, her friends, her trips to the mountains, her mom. He tells her about his new projects. They talk about his older buildings but the ones she has loved most. She tells him that she could never be able to buy something, not only because the real estate market is so high but also there are no attractive projects for her. She tells him that he has somehow ruined her perspective of owning a property. She wants him to build for her something. He tells her not to worry, first they need to find a reasonable piece of land then he could draw something she likes. She says that he would be too expensive for her to afford. “I am not. And not for you.”

He tells her he wants to be like her friends. The nerds. He calls them. Her friends are all scientists like her. He says he loves nerds. He admires nerds. He has never known any woman as nerdy as she is. He repeats again that he just loves nerds. He looks in her eyes and smiles. “You do not want to be a nerd, you know”. “I do, I want to be with your friends and you, at your dinners and be able to discuss”.

He leaves the kitchen counter and comes behind her. He kisses her in the neck. He poses his chin on her neck for a few long seconds. He smells her and kisses her again.

They sit down for dinner. She never sits in a normal way at the table when they dine together. She always stretches her legs and puts her feet on his thighs. He caresses her feet and eats with one hand.
When he gets up to serve the pasta again, she takes her legs off. He comes back, puts the new pasta plates down. He sits down again and says, as if it was the most normal mundane thing to say: “Feet, please”. Under the table, she stretches her legs again and gives him back her feet. In a most normal mundane way.

It is difficult to know what is going on in people’ heads. It is difficult to know the feelings of people. All they have is the unspoken, the small gestures, the rituals. They hang on to the rituals and guess. They could feel anything, secure or insecure. They never say anything directly to each other. They show their love with codes and rituals. Sometimes with words in indirect ways. They let each other interpret the other’s emotions, freely, without any restrictions. The freedom of interpretation at first seems unlimited, yet very quickly narrowed down to a very small space of possible interpretation. “Feet, please”. What else could she understand? Two tiny words but so beautiful and full of sensuality and desire. She does not need to know what is going on in his head. But that precise moment, she knows. She knows enough.

Conversations

You were not happy the last time we met at the hotel.

 No.

I know. It was our first time. I mean the first time like clandestinely.

The first time we did not spend the whole night together. 

I know. You were sad. 

I was.

We are about cooking, talking, catching up, watching Netflix, cuddling in front of Netflix.

Yes.

And sleeping together. You always stay over. 

Yes.

Sorry about the hotel thing.

Don’t be. We have survived.

Avoid the idea of “an affair”

It was an illusion for her to think that she wanted to see him because she just physically desired him and wanted to see him. She hadn’t seen him for a while. The pandemic situation was not conducive to meeting and reuniting. They had tried to see each other several times after their weekend in the mountains. This was not happening. Perhaps because of a lack of will. But the desire was still there. They did not live in the same city. Perhaps this factor had also contributed to the difficulty of organizing a meeting.

 

He was very free in the early years of their relationship. Then his children came to live with him. Reunions became rarer. They tried to meet each other somewhere else than where they lived. But this was not always easy. When restaurants reopened between the two lockdowns, they could see each other for dinner, but she could no longer sleep at his place after dinner because of the presence of the children. Then the restaurants closed down again and they had no solution. Those long dinners when they knew they could not spend the night together, when they spent the whole dinner touching each other and kissing.

 

One day, they took the afternoon off. She had booked a hotel in the center. A nice hotel, yet deserted because of the confinement. He came to join her in the middle of the afternoon. He looked tired. His hair was even longer. He was wearing the same jeans he had at the last meeting. He had called her at the reception and he gave his name. She picked him up at the reception. They were wearing masks and they couldn’t kiss each other. When they got to the room, he hugged her for at least five minutes. She caressed his hair. The same gray, rebellious hair that she loved so much. He looked at the room and its arrangement. He talked about the architecture of the room, the use of concrete and the transparent shower. He thought the room was well decorated. Then he got into bed and undress. He asked her to join him. She undressed too. But she kept her underwear on. They made love for an hour. Their bodies were sweaty. The kisses. The whispers. Moaning. The screams. The caresses. The hugs. The two bodies embraced to become one. The hands grabbed the bodies. Fingers sought the lips. An hour of pleasure. Or can we say one hour of love.

 

They didn’t talk much. It seemed like they had used all their energy for sex. He had asked her if she was happy. She replied that the sex lasted longer than usual. He protested with a slight sneer, it lasted longer at times. She thought in her head that maybe it was with someone else. Not with her. But she didn’t say anything to him. His body was filled with desire for her for an hour. Tense with desire. As if all his muscles were made to give her pleasure, every part of her body.

 

She hadn’t asked him anything about his children. She had felt that he didn’t want to talk about them. She hadn’t asked him about anything at all. She had never asked about anything in two years. His wife separated but not divorced. In the same city, not in the same city. Maybe even she was in the same city that afternoon. He didn’t feel like sharing anything. She didn’t feel like asking.

 

The hotel restaurant was deserted. People don’t travel anymore because of the Covid. They were alone in this hotel. He could not stay the night because the children were waiting for him. He asked her if she was going to stay and enjoy the hotel’s spa and the gym. She answered yes. She had chosen a hotel with a gym because the gyms were closed.

 

When he was gone, she continued to work a little. It was the first time they had only been in a hotel for a few hours and only for sex. It was the first time she had been in a hotel for only a few hours for sex with a man. It was the first time she didn’t spend the night with him after sex. It was the first time he didn’t cook dinner and they didn’t watch Netflix after sex. It was the first time they spoke so little to each other. It was the first time they made love for so long.

 

She decided to leave the hotel and go home and not spend the night at the hotel. The idea of eating in a restaurant empty of customers during the Covid depressed her. She wanted to see him, she wanted to have sex with him, it was her idea to meet in a hotel. It was an illusion to think that she only wanted sex with him so much. Their story had never seemed to her to be just “an affair”, even though she was always very certain that he has never been an available man, precisely because they had never seen each other in a hotel just to have sex. It was an experience to understand that she didn’t want to meet him just for sex. She wanted to avoid the idea of an affair with a man who was not available. The meeting in a hotel, the sex in a hotel were symbolic of being in an affair. For a thousand of men and women who are not free. Whatever the situation, she wanted to experience some semblance of a situation that would allow her to believe that he was free. The rest didn’t matter. Whatever form their relationship would take. The idea of being in an affair never pleased her. Lovers. Friends. Mates. But not an affair. She just wanted an illusion of not being an affair. 

Hotel Waldhaus Sils and him

The Swiss mountains are known to be unique and breathtaking. When he said he would join you in the Swiss mountains, you did not know which one would be unique and which one breathtaking. How could you live simultaneously the beauty of the Swiss mountains and his beauty. How could you handle the news? .

The Waldhaus Sils hotel was built in 1908. It is simply exquisite, every corner and every furniture seem to be there to make you happy. Your eyes when you walk around the hotel are just filled with beauty. You stayed there for one night. He asked you to stay one more night. He said he would join you in a private jet as he could find one free seat in this 6-seats jet. You could never refuse him. Like Milano, it would be just heavenly sensational to spend some time with him in the mountains.

He was so happy to see you. He smiled from far. You were waiting for him at the lobby. While the whole country is locked down and nothing outside is open. Only hotels are open and guests can be served at the restaurant. At four in the afternoon, there was a chamber music concert with tea and cake. He was so happy that his eyes were smiling the whole time. He held your hands and kissed them again and again. He thanked you again and again for letting him join you.

If your time with him in Milano was heaven, this time it was ten times heaven. You find words would not be enough to describe him and his happiness and yours. He wanted to have dinner in the small “Stubli” with candlelight and not in the ballroom with more people. He chose a table in the corner and said he wanted to feel like being alone on earth with you. After dinner, there was another concert in the lounge, this time the music was all tango. He held your hands even tighter. He was still tanned and his arms were so strong. You love his arms. His silver bracelet shined together with his tan. You love that wherever he is, in a fancy place or a cool place, he would always wear his old grey T-shirt. He would not mind to be different. He has his style. He is chic in his own way. He does not care about what people could think of him. He is so free and so apart in this world. He is simply so rock and roll. Really. He never bullshits you or anyone. What you see is what you get. It is him. No promising words. No strategies. No games. No manipulation. Just pure transparency and joy when he is with you. And it is the most precious quality in a lover or a boyfriend or a partner. No games ever.

The night was long and too private to be described. The morning started with kisses.

On the way back on the train, you asked him shyly: “It would be expensive to come by private jet, right?”. He looked at you, smiling and answered: “Yup, but it was for the two years with you”. Breatheless, you could not answer to that. Next week will be two years of you and him. No promising words ever. No strategies. No games. He is the best, whatever he could be. Two years of sincerity and honesty. You wish everyone could meet a man like this.

You do not need Milan.

You do not need to go back to Milan to live the same emotions. Every time you meet with him, here you are, exactly as if you were back to Milan all over again. Isn’t it beautiful or magic?

It was even more intense than Milan. You do not need the romantic setting of Milan to feel romantic again. You do not need to be in a palazzo to feel like a queen. You do not need to have anything special because he is already there and so unique and special.

It seems impossible for you to describe your dinner with him. There are so many different feelings you have experienced that it would take you too long to understand each of them at every moment of dinner. Nothing is obvious, not even the fact that you were captivated by his beauty of always. This beauty that made you fall for him in the first place. Despite the gloomy fall weather, he was wearing a t-shirt and his two strong tanned arms look even more beautiful than ever.


His silver gray hair was rebellious but made him look as majestic and powerful as a lion.


At all times, he would clear unnecessary items on the table so that he could hold your hands. He would squeeze your hands very tightly, bring them to his lips and kiss them. You would caress his hair that he would want to cut soon but you would tell him not to touch it, it is so perfect the way it is in your eyes.
The width of the table would push you two to almost stand up so you could kiss each other.

You would not feel the cold outside. His kisses to say goodbye would make you forget you were in November. Like two adolescents, you would kiss each other in the middle of the street as if you were alone in the city. The night was bright, the stars looked at you and shined in the dark. His kisses would last an eternity. You would come closer to him and look for his arms. You were becoming one with him under his coat.

You would not need Milan to feel warm. Milan was right there within you. And him. It was better than Milan. Every time you meet with him, it is better than the previous time. Every time there is this new magic nourished by the same old unique emotions. There was Milan and there was “after Milan”.

The emotional nudity

When it comes to love, it seems to be all about balance. We can think, talk, analyse, elaborate hypotheses, assert, confirm, refute, the sentiment of love is the most complex one. Sometimes we think we get it, finally we understand it, then suddenly everything is obscure again. It seems like all the efforts we put into analysing and understanding the feeling of love are vain. Then we step back and think. Again, yes, again.

Can a miracle happen ? Could love be rational ? Is it all about balance ? Could the brain takes back the control ? One moment we think we are crazy and the love we feel for someone is totally out of control. The heart beats in an excessive speed. The pain unbearable. The absence kills. The silence tortures. We feel like we are drowning. We do not eat properly for days during the first days when we realise that we are falling in love. We do not sleep properly. We do not function properly.

But then there is a moment when we look at ourselves in the mirror, in an old pyjama with no make up, we say: “what the f..k is going on here?”. We realise that there is something a bit ridiculous about this whole situation of “being in love”. Why not eating? Why not sleeping? Why dreaming all the time? Why staying all day in pyjama?

That moment when we realise that the emotional nudity we are going through the last days, weeks must come to an end. Yes, we have been undressed ourselves the moment we fall in love, we have been showing ourselves naked. We reveal our weakness, we confess our needs, we admit our wants. We reveal we have lost our independence, we admit we have been vulnerable. We confess that we have cried, that we could not sleep. We said we have lost even the capacity of seduction as we have doubted so much about ourselves. But funny enough, it is exactly at the same moment that we feel stronger and invincible again. But we need to hit the bottom to climb up again. There is something very strange about the emotional nudity, you become so weak that you have to become strong again. You have become so unarmed that you have to arm yourself again with dignity to keep on loving.

It is about balance not about to stop loving. It is like when an alcoholic, after a tragic accident, realises that he should stop drinking. But here, you do not stop loving. The emotional nudity is a tragic accident in the course of love but it is necessary because it forces us to overcome. Because there is no love if we cannot be vulnerable. The whole exercise however is about how and when the balance needs to interrupt the emotional nudity. Too soon would be an abortion of the experiment of falling in love. Too late would turn the feeling of love into an ocean of suffering.

What to say? Think carefully before falling in love or falling in love first then managing the rest?

Bonding

You have fever and you do not know where he is. You would like to talk to him, hear from him. Hear from him asking you about your health, your moods, but it was not possible. He is simply not there.

It takes you a while to get to know him. He writes damn well. You want to meet him. To discover him more than just his words. You want to make the dream come true. Going from the impossible to the possible, from illusion to lived experience, to meet, to touch or simply to talk. You want to have these extremely rare moments. He is among those people with whom you created a bond, at that specific moment of your life, a bond that re-invents you. A bond that requires moments together, a bond that can only exist if the desire and trust exist.

You do not know what is going on in his mind. One day, he comes to you like a storm. Big storm. Like a tsunami that floods your heart. Like a thunder that takes away your breath. Like an earthquake that drowns you into an infinite abyss. Then one day you have the impression he just wants to save himself, first he wants to know you more, then he seems to regret and seems to be embarrassed. You can feel it. Virtually.

A disappointment ? Or a betrayal that you could not accept, or is it his omission of telling the truth that you could not bear. Maybe you are talking about a certain morality that is heavy for him to bear. No, your language is all about rare encounters, shared happiness, people who matter then life becomes liveable again.

And this is the only way you see love today, a love you wish for everyone, in the most non-cynical version and not in the promise of an exclusive commitment. You could understand he could not give you that but you wish he would not need to struggle that much and run away from the most beautiful story of his life.

You are deluding yourself. Given the emotional pangs you are in right now, but this idea of love keeps you going and you are brave as you face it honestly. If you did not have that courage, you would not have exchanged with him that much and offered to come and meet him. For him, it would be the same. Why would he come to you that far.

You dare to hope that this is only the beginning of the story, that would take you and him to you do not know where, but for example just to hear him recite some poems of Shakespeare, or simply to walk with him by the water’s edge of the Hudson river.

A recurring dream

You dream of him again. Not a surprise. A recurring dream. You are with him at this restaurant in Montauk (it is strange that you always think of this place – you have never been there but always wish to go) and you are having oysters. You do not even know if he eats oysters. Maybe because you wrote to him yesterday about being by the beach in Montauk.

You have this image of you two at that beach – desert and untouched landscape. You talk to each other. But you seem shy. You talk more by moments. Then stay silent suddenly then ask again lots of questions. You do not know where to start. He is patient. You look at him non-stop. You do not want to waste any minute when you are with him. Every minute counts as it is a dream and if you did not enjoy it as much as you could, he will be gone when you wake up.

In the dream, you never touch him. Not just once. You just stare at him. Your eyes say more than words. Words of a new-born love.
The “erotic density” between you two is palpable. You are separated from him by a fragile wall made of foam. All you need to do is to touch it softly with your fingers to pierce it and be even closer to him.

A recurring dream with recurring desires. In your dream, you imagine how soft the skin of his face would be. How soft the skin of his hands would be. In your dream, you imagine efflorescing his eyelids. His eyes are close. He seems peaceful, waiting for your fingers.

For you, B.B.

Tonight at 9pm curfew starts in several cities in Europe. We are lucky as it will not affect us. For once, the long distance is our advantage.

Let me remember how it all starts with you. Some virtual exchanges. Some “likes” and “comments” here and there on social media. I have known you through your movies and acting. And lately I have gotten to know you as the most decent human being I have been in contact with. Every small words you write is well chosen. Never too much, never too few. You always have the right tone and I really appreciate you for that.

When I receive your words, I smile. They have made me feel happy for the last few months. Why? I do not really know why, but as said, maybe because they reflect your intelligence and certainly also a bit of your soul. One cannot write and react with care, refinement and delicacy without having an extremely developed emotional intelligence.

I like to exchange with you. I thought it was something quite normal to like to exchange with you. Until something happened. A few days ago, suddenly I saw that you unfollowed me on Instagram. I would not care about that if it had been someone else. But not you. It cannot be you. In one second, I felt like there was not enough blood coming to my heart and I could faint on the train. My heart physically ached. I could hardly breathe. I did not know what happened. The day before, you still wrote to me.

My whole life I have tried not to be vulnerable. Why would I feel so vulnerable that day ? I decided to write to you and ask you why you unfollowed me. That was the only way to do to know why, even though I had for a moment to expose myself and tell you how I felt. My courage received the most beautiful price. You wrote back to me and it was not you who did it. Something happened and you did not know why. A few others of your friends were also unfriended. You wrote to me that you would never do that to me and I am a treasure that you would never want to lose.

My heart from pain to succumbing, to melting. You make me feel new. Not only happy. New. That day I went to a piano rehearsal and I played with my heart and with you on my mind. I played exceptionnally well that day.

The next day we wrote the whole day. You were in New Mexico shooting a new movie. In spite of the time zone, you were with me the whole day. I told you that you are handsome and your beauty is illegal. You smiled and you did not agree with me. You told me you are old. For me, you are perfect. I insisted so many times. One day you will have to believe me. You will have no choice. You have to believe me that your heart and your soul are so special. I will insist until you believe.

The whole day I went through your Instagram pictures. I looked at your blue eyes, clear and sweet and plenty of good intentions. I told you that if I were a filmmaker and I was to shoot a movie, in my movie, the female main protagonist would fly to New Mexico and ask the male protagonist to marry her, all in 24 hours and fly back home. In spite of the Covid situation. In spite of everything that could happen in this world. You told me that in our movies, there would be very few scenes with dialogues, only gazes between the two people. That would be an intense movie – I said – with your eyes, blue like the ocean and your face, tanned and beautiful, where every wrinkle is placed perfectly, like a piece of art.

The day of your birthday I played the song on piano and sang for you. It was the first time I did it for someone. I told you that I did it for you because you deserved it. You said you were melting. I would do anything to make your heart melt even more. Or at least to make your heart sing and be happy all year round and not only at your birthday.

You had a dream about us. Your words that I copy here, words by words, because they are so beautiful: ” It was very sunny on a balcony. I was in the shade sitting on a table. And I told you to come in from the sun”. I told you about my dream during a nap. We were in the South of France, we were driving a convertible old Mustang like in the “Bullitt” movie. Dreams are with you, every time.

You want to know about the whole story of my life. Be sure that I will let you know me. Again I quote you, words by words: “If Bach has gotten to know you, I shall get to know you”. I remind you that if there is Bach anything is possible. On that one, we agree. On your beauty, you still fight back and tell me that I am wrong. But one day you will agree with me too.

People criticize Facebook and Instagram and the social media. I cannot say anything. They brought you to me. It is a wonderful gift. I wish us everything, I wish us more of everything. The sharing laughs, the longing, the melting hearts, the crazy imaginary movies we will make. Most of all, I wish you well and all the lovely things you could have, including me.

Dance…

Life is complicated and we luckily can understand it, piece by piece and not always as a whole. And that makes life more interesting and not boring for one second. We cannot plan everything. To fall in love with someone, to stop loving someone, to encounter someone, to feel something, We do not have the answer for everything and that is the coolest part of living. Otherwise our lives would look like an Excel spreadsheet, in columns with subtotals and incomplete mathematic formulas.

Living a meaningful life is like living a thousands of experiences that you want to put in a novel but then you realize it is impossible to write this novel.

Life is like a masterpiece of art. Building your masterpiece of art with new experiences, enriched with old ones. Some have families in there, with kids, wives, husbands, exes. If you are lucky, in there, there are loves. One unique love story or plenty of love stories. If you are lucky, you experience the idealism: long lasting love. Most of us do not.

Then what is even more important is the honesty. Do whatever you want to do, love whomever you want to love, be with whoever you want to be, be sincere, be honest. And dance. Like Anthony Quinn in Zorba the Greek. Dance and smile. You can cry while dancing. You can love, you can suffer, while dancing. Be sincere while dancing. People who are like you will follow your steps, the others will be left behind but it will not matter.

Do not judge. Do not let yourself being judged. Do not justify. You do not own anyone anything. Be free. Do not expect people to be like you.

The longlasting love – the most certain one is with yourself. So, first, love yourself and if there is some love left, it will be for him. Not the opposite. Never forget yourself while loving him.

Just remember the desire

The train you take that night from Milan to home, even if outside is dark and you cannot distinguish a thing but only your own shadow reflected on the window, nothing is more poetic than the thought of a new-born romantic feeling experienced for someone. Perhaps the most romantic person that Sunday evening is you as what nourishes that melancholic yet beautiful feeling is your courage facing the uncertainty. What is the most admirable is that you do not have any fear. You are not scared of getting burned. You embrace the day spent together with him, with joy and grace and no fear. No plan. All you have is desire. Your desire. This irrational “thing” that people usually want to figure out very quickly as soon as they “feel” something for someone.

Your desire for him is the only constant variable since the day you first met him. The desire that functions like a huge machine, that works for itself, that feeds and gives energy to the rest.

You assume your desire. You never need to justify your desire or to kill it with moral or social boundaries. You do not want to be sad. To kill your desire is to be sad. The kind of sadness that usually impedes people to live fully their emotions.

You just want to live your desire for him. During this long train trip, you see your shadow on the window but also your desire. Its outlines are sharp. You see the day spent with him like a movie, with scenes after scenes of desires. A movie in which there are not necessarily any images of him and you. Only the vivid memory, and the perfume of the desire transformed when possible in kisses and sensual touches. The kisses have the perfume of what you both love most, the white truffle.

You live your desire in Milan endlessly. That is an unique experience. Something you will always remember. What should come after does not matter. How you both go back to your lives and how you both live apart will not matter. Just remember the desire.

He is back

He is back.

He is back.

He is back. How come he is your inspiration and now this is all you can write? He is back in your city. The moment he writes to you from the airport to tell you that he is back, you lose all the capacities of normal functioning. This week you forget three umbrellas in the train. Yesterday you went to work without your wallet, you had to go back home to get it. But you still feel like it is normal to be this way. You are in the clouds. Your rational mind still denies that you have feelings. Having feelings ? You laugh out loud. If this is just having feelings for someone, then being in love would be what? How many umbrellas will you forget in the train if you were in love? How many times you would have to go back home because you would forget again and again your wallet?

He is back. First thing he writes to you. He tells you he is in a festive mood. He says that Milan was great but too short. He calls you a romantic nerd. He reads your blog. He says you make him happy. You stop the whatsapp exchanges first as your small heart is too weak for such emotions.

He is back. The idea that he is a few miles away is totally extravagant, crazy, insane, exciting, romantic, poetic, inhuman. How come just knowing that he is back and not too far from you could procure such emotions and joy. Who knows the answer?

He is back. And it is not a dream you have in the middle of the night.

The struggle

In the early stage of being in love, you struggle. The rational in you would ask the same question again and again: is it worth loving him?

You analyze the relationship and give yourself a thousand of reasons to escape from your love for him. You struggle because in your rational thinking you could not give one reason that tells you to keep on loving him. The absence, the unavailability, the uncertainty, the impossibility of a future together, any reason is good to stop your feelings for him. You struggle because, on the other hand, there are another thousand of reasons that do not give a damn about your rational analysis. But these reasons are purely romantic, emotional, poetic and they have nothing to do with the reality.


In the early stage of being in love, you want to reject him, you even want to hate him for being so perfect, up to the point that you cannot resist him. The person with whom you fall in love is just amazing and unique, yet you are tormented and feel the need to escape from that love. The struggle does not come from fear, at least not yet. The struggle is a reaction to something too strong for you at the moment to handle. The minutes, the hours, the days after you fall in love, you already regret. But as much as this feeling tortures you from inside, there would still be this floating exquisite feeling. The feeling that reminds you of his kisses, his voice, his gazes.


The struggle lasts long as both your rational mind and the memories of him are powerful. They are inside you in equal strength. The moment you think of his kisses, your inner rationality reminds you of his absence. And it keeps on living in you. During the time of struggle, there will be no room for other feelings or other persons. Love. No more love. Love. No more love. Until saturation. Until exhaustion. Who is gonna win ? You have no idea. The only thing you know is he occupies your mind day and night. Until saturation. Until exhaustion.

24 hours in Milan or the G. experience – Part three: the dinner

Yesterday evening you accepted a dinner date. Last Saturday you were in Milan with him. At the exact same time, a week ago, you were falling in love with him. How come you accepted this dinner date.

You have no choice. Either you stop living and keep on waiting for him or you keep on loving him, without waiting and keep on living your life. The long-distance between you and him. The Covid situation with all borders locked down one week after another. His work. Your work. His free-spirit. Your free-spirit.

The date was not bad. It was just meaningless for you. There was nothing to compare to last Saturday when you were with him in Milan. He was so happy you picked the right Osteria in the Old Town, small, authentic. You sat outside. The weather was still perfect for being outside. He ordered plenty of food. He was like a kid. He held your hands during the whole dinner. He ate with one hand so he could hold your hand with the other. He asked you about your childhood, told you about his. He asked you about your dreams, your goals. He told you about his dreams, if he still had some. He said he felt lonely travelling around for work. He said he did not have a social life and did not really care. He said he have you when he arrives each time in the city where you live. He ordered three desserts. He made you try the mousse au chocolat and the tiramisu. He said you could eat whatever you want you have a perfect body.

His eyes were smiling with you. He always knows exactly how to make you melt. But he does not play with it and plan it. It is just the way he is. He looked at you so intensely at dinner that sometimes you could not bear his gaze. Sometimes you had to look somewhere else.

After dinner, you walked around the Old Town. Your hands were in his. He stopped at almost every corner of the street to kiss you. His lips were delicious. There was still a bit the taste of red wine. You let your head on his shoulder while walking. You remember he told you once that the people he loves are invited to join him in his modest journey of life. That evening you were certainly part of these people.

To love him is to accept the absence, to accept the ups, to accept the downs. To accept intense emotions and pain when he is away. But what could you do else ?

Yesterday you went on a dinner date to survive. On the way home you promised yourself not to survive that way again. Your heart is too small and you only have space for him. Even though he is more often absent than present. But a thousand dates like yesterday would never equal one dinner with him.

You go home. Your head and heart full of him. Your decision: loving him, not waiting for him, keep on living your life, but not going on dates anymore. Your heart tells you so.

Worse-case scenario

One week after Milan. You survive. The longing for him is definitely less. The missing him is a blurry feeling. The symptoms of an “infection” of him are less severe. Transformed into a permanent serious illness: love sick.

You are sick. Love sick. Love him. Loss of appetite. Bored with people. Only want to see him. Only want to touch him. Have you just said that the symptoms are less severe ?

How are you gonna get cured of this illness ? You have no idea. Is there any remedy? Lock up your heart right now ? Isn’t it too late ? Walk away ? Never see him again ?

Or just let yourself being sick? Worse case scenario: you lose weight. It could be a good thing. Worse case scenario: you write more poems as you are inspired by him. Worse case scenario: you play more music as the music always reminds you of him. Worse case scenario: you tell him that you love him and he already knows so it will not change anything.

Love him to the fullness and wait for the worse case scenarii.

It is too late to doubt…

“This endured absence is nothing more or less than forgetfulness. I am, intermittently, unfaithful. This is the condition of my survival” (Roland Barthes)

In the early stage of being in love, moments of uncertainty are numerous and hit you in different shapes. There are moments of longing, when your body feels no energy, the only energy left you seem to have is the thought of him. And even so, your brain gets tired of this only, repetitive thought of him. You miss him and your body is aching. Soon even your body is tired of missing him. But the memories of those moments spent with him the last 19 months and in Milan still work.

Your brain is almost out of battery. Your body almost numb. In uncertainty and fatigue, like a miracle, the love you feel for him is still so vivid. While your body carrying physically this pain and longing for love, and missing him for days seems to want to let this love go, there is still something else remaining. And that, that is the love itself. How to explain it? You cannot explain it.

The love you feel for him is outside of what your brain can sustain and of what your body can carry. Have you ever thought of that kind of feeling ? This love that belongs to nothing, nowhere, detached from everything. It is simply love in its pure form. Like uncut cocaine. Should we compare.

The moment you think you are too tired to think of him. Your thoughts for him are still there, hanging above you, looking at you. Triumphant.

Love and doubts go together, people say that. They go together but they function separately. Doubt as much as you can, it will not change the love you have already felt for him.

You know it. One second. Just that one second. All you need to fall in love.

In the early stage of being in love, there are doubts but mostly there is the love that is already there. You hope that when you doubt, when you ask yourself why you fall for him, you will love him less or stop loving him, or waking up, finding yourself silly to have falling for him. What you do not know is that it is too late. You doubt to survive. You know that you already give him your heart. When he came to Milan to join you, doubts are superflous. Doubts are made for survival.

24 hours in Milan or the G. experience – Part two: the Prosecco

After the longest kiss of the history of kissing, he asks what you would like to drink. You ask for a Prosecco. He knows you do not drink a lot. He is surprised you even order alcohol. Every time at his place, you never even finish a small glass of wine. You have wine just to say Cheers to him.

You sit next to him. The Swiss Corner is all white with design furniture. A long white bar in the middle. Upstairs is the Swiss Embassy. You joke that you two are too Swiss that even abroad the appointment is in a Swiss place. The waiter brings plenty of food with the drinks. It is Italy. Fabulous Italy.

He speaks a perfect Italian. He asks about your three days in Milan, in details he wants to know what you were doing. He looks at you while you are talking. His deep blue eyes. He holds your hand. You touch from time to time his silver bracelet. The colour of silver enhances the colour of his tanned skin. You kiss him on the cheek. He kisses you back. You put your head on his shoulder. You have not been that tender and sweet to any man for the last five years. You feel comfortable, airy, happy. You trust him. You feel peaceful. You ask him about his journey, if he got bored on the train.

You are like a cat, getting closer and closer to his master. You like his smell. You put your nose in his neck. He kisses your hair. People look at you. People smile. People smile to your happiness. In the time of Covid, he makes you feel like nothing else would happen to you or anyone else in this world. You feel safe with him. It is just 5pm. You do not want the evening to start. 5pm forever. Aperitivo forever.

When you finish the Prosecco and stand up, you feel tipsy. You tell him. He says that is because you are not used to alcohol and it is normal as Prosecco is also very sweet. You do not tell him but you know that it is not because of the Prosecco that you are tipsy. It is because of him. His smell. The texture of his hair when you caress it with your fingers. The skin of his hand when you caress it with your cheek. These small things from him that make you tipsy. Not the Prosecco. Do not blame the Prosecco.

24 hours in Milan or the G. experience – Part one: the arrival

“Am I in love? Yes, since I am waiting. (..) Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late, but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.” (Roland Barthes).

This is very subjective guide to how to spend 24 hours in Milan with the man with whom you are going to fall in love.

You know he will arrive in the afternoon around 4pm. At lunch time you are not hungry. You want to do some more visits of museums before he arrives. But your head is already somewhere in the clouds. So you end up sitting at the Café Fernanda of the Pinacotheca di Brera, a beautiful palazzo museum. You sip very slowly your cappucino, it has never been more delicious than this particular cappucino, it’s the capuccino of the day you will meet him. He sends you his location. The closer he gets to Milan, the faster your heartbeats. Even when his train stops somewhere in the middle and has a few minutes late, and he sends you again his location, even then your heart aches. He asks where you want to have dinner. He wants you to choose. He says he has a list of restaurants recommended by his friends but he will follow you anywhere you want to go.

You give him the name of the hotel where to join you. You were already in Milan a few days before his arrival. You tell him that you would leave his name at the reception. When he arrives he would just need to ask for you and you will come down. He sends you a heart emoji and a happy face.

From that moment your brain stops working. You walk around the streets next to the hotel but you do not really know what you want to do. He arrives in two hours. You go back to the hotel. You take a long shower. You pamper yourself. You smell good. He sends you more live locations. He is about 30 minutes away.

At 3.30 pm you come down to the reception to wait for him. At 4:00pm he let you know he takes the cab at the station and heads to the hotel. Ten minutes drive. Your heart stops beating. The heartbeats more and more irregular. You are stressed. It is not the first date. You have known him for almost two years. But you are stressed and excited and nervous. 4.20 pm, he is still not there. Traffic, maybe. Then he calls you. He is too shy to go to the hotel and asks for your name. He tells you he waits for you at the Swiss Corner, right in front of the hotel. You tell him you will be there in less than 3 minutes. He texts you a heart emoji and a happy face.

You cross the street. Enter the Swiss Corner bar. He waives for you. He has a big smile. He has the happiest face you have never seen. He gives you a warm long hug. Then he pulls you back a bit and look at you for 10 seconds exactly. Then he kisses you. The longest kiss of the century. No, really the longest kiss of the history of kissing.

(end of Part One: the arival…….to be continued)

There was that one second.

The third day after Italy. You wake up this morning thinking of him. Like a routine. No surprise. He is under your skin. Any small particles of your skin has a bit of something of him. The longing of his caresses and kisses is there. Not as strong as the day before. But still there.

Before you went to sleep last night, he sent you some pictures of your trip together. Without comments. Just some pictures. You replied to him with an emoji who waives a Hi. And that was about it. You are always shy. You could write to him every hour. You could send to him heart emojis. Tons of them. But you never did. Even if when he sent them to you. You answered with a smile.

Though love is not a game, you do not reveal yourself. You are always careful. You protect yourself, building a wall between him and you. And why is that? You are afraid he is not available. You are afraid things will change between you two if you open yourself up. You wish you could one day put down this wall between you two and tell him how much you care for him.

In Italy you realize you have surrendered him. In Italy when he holds your hands, walking around the Old Town, when he stopped suddenly in the middle of the street, around a corner, to kiss you. You know you have crossed the line of no-return. You could no longer protect yourself. There is this fatal second when you know you are falling in love and cannot take it back.

There is that moment when he tells you that the only person who cares about him in this world is probably you. He says this, holding your hands and looking at you. This moment lasts one second, two seconds or ten seconds, it does not matter.

Strategy. Protection. Rationality. Control. There was that one second when all of these have no more power. The brain has surrendered. One second. That is all. Like Murakami said: the rose is red, the ice is cold, I am in love.

Mood after Italy

You let him come to Italy. Live dangerously, you call it. Live cautiously is not to let him come. Majestic him. Whom you know you cannot resist.
The experience was vertiginous. When you live the ups you have to be ready for the downs. Who wants rain must expect the muds. You were ready. Or at least you think you are ready. Ready for the downs, the moment you kiss goodbye at the station. When you only want romance, that is what you get. The slow and irregular heartbeats when he walks away. You take the last train. Outside the night is falling. The rain drops stick on the window and slowly disapear, just like the memories of your day spent with him.
The next day you get these symptoms of those who are in love. Are you too? The question is irrelevant. You should have things under control. Vulnerability is not part of your vocabulary.
The next day the symptoms are acute. You think of him the moment you open your eyes in the morning. His smile. His strong arms. His blue eyes when he looks at you. You hardly eat. You live out of memories. Your heart feels weak. Your brain functions half of its capacity.
You embrace the symptoms. If truly you are in love, then it is a gift. But you doubt the symptoms will last. You hope somehow they will last. For once, you let your guard down.
You think love is a decision. Rationality. There is nothing more powerful than your brain. How long are you going to let him stay in your heart. Some will say that it is not love if you can control.
The second day you still feel dizzy but the memories of his smiling eyes fade away already a little bit. But the feeling of him is still very present. Now you are tipsy when you think of him. And it is nothing in comparison to the moment you went to the bar to meet him in Italy, that moment you feel like you have swallowed a bottle of wine all by yourself.
You dont know how to fall in love and how to be with someone. You only feel. Your five senses tell you what love is. Love is science fiction. Love is alien for you. Yet the symptoms of love are earthy for you. Even in the landing you can feel them.

Lovers

She always knows exactly when the cab driver is going to turn left after the intersection. Her watch shows the same time, like any other evenings when she comes to his place. The last nine months. The cab driver stops exactly in front of the address she indicates. She always rings the bell of the building at around 20:00, sometimes 20:05, sometimes 20:10. The weather could be good or bad, rainy or blue sky, she always arrives at his place around that time. She never needs to ring the bell when she reaches the 3rd floor. He always leaves the door open. The TV is most of the time turned on when she enters the apartment. Most of the time he is there, waiting for her. He has his usual smile. He always greets her in a joyful way.

Winter has arrived the last two weeks, yet, his skin still gets this color of honey. He only lives in this city in the North a few days a week. The rest of the time, he is living in the South where the sun never stops shining. He must have spent his weekends under the sun or out there by the beach, or somewhere near the coast. He told her that he has recently bought a small fisherman boat. That would explain his all-year round tanned golden skin.

After all those months, she is still surprised she finds him each time that gorgeous. She is almost scared to become that superficial because she always finds him too handsome and that would be the only reason making her come to his place or liking him. His beauty, she takes it as a ray of sun, a snowflake, or even sometimes her own breathe. His features, his skin, his eyes. Once beautiful, always beautiful. That is what people say. A face that has lived the pleasure, the dreams and the impetuosity. She looks at him and wonders: “has he ever been hurt or vulnerable?” It is hard to tell. He is standing there, right across the kitchen, joking about his talent of cooking a unique tomato sauce. He is smiling to her. She looks at him and wonders: “has he ever hurt someone with this smile?” It is hard to tell. Maybe at some point, in his past, there have been some left scars for him and for others.

The questions she asks are not relevant or important. Every time they enjoy each other until exhaustion. Spontaneous physical passion. Kissing him is like licking a thousand flavor of ice cream all in one, trying to detect which flavor is the best. Each kiss, sweet and deep with his soft tongue, tastes like a small piece of roasted peach, having its own soul. It is like he knows that the only way to reach her is to kiss her.

The windows with no curtain, the lights from inside the apart show the shadows of them slowly taking off their clothes, guessing the steady desire of making love. They hold each other close, and never stop kissing. Their hands looking for their naked skin under the clothes, the skin that vibrates with each caress. There is a raging fire spreading through the room but also a controlled ardor to prolong the moment. They know they cannot leave until they finish consuming the heat inside them. Fire has sealed off all windows, leaving them only one thing to do: make love madly. This magical craziness of desiring someone so strong, the need of flesh so savage and so primitive. At least that is what she feels each time. There is always a moment when she loses consciousness of time and space, where am I? Am I on earth? Or in heaven? But there is always also a moment when she stops thinking and only focusing on her five senses, allowing her to fully feel each movement of his hips when he is inside her.

She starts to call him “the best” lately. He has become the best lover she has ever had. Lately, he puts on Bach when they make love. When she comes, several times each time they are together, she remembers exactly with which piece of Bach, which melodies, which instruments. Each time it is divine. Having an orgasm with him, with Bach music in the background, is self-redemption. That is what she knows and feels. When he is inside her, she feels like she has never made love before. She feels new and fresh. When he comes, his pleasure is intense. When they finish, it is not finished. The abnormal magical pleasures they feed each other turn other pleasures into some normal, insignificant ones. The red wine, the dish of pasta with his unique tomato sauce, a soccer game shown on television or a movie he chose but never gets to watch until the end.

Yet, they are different types, she guesses. He seems full of energy and ambition. Young, he would surely see the world as a scented fruit waiting to be eaten, as the world certainly has been opened up to him and his beauty easily. She is a nerd and, for her, life is something rational, like a cake with layers of cream, organized and sweet but predictable. She has learned with him not to ask lots of questions or to think too much. She always knows that most of men do not like women who think and ask too much questions. There is no frustration to not asking questions. On the contrary, it is a way to preserve mystery after having shared that fire of physical passion. She believes their differences increase their mutual attraction. They have developed a certain intimacy, not the physical one only, but also some closeness. It is quite unavoidable once they share a regular physical intimacy. But not asking too many questions keep them from falling in love. Because falling in love is letting go and they never really let go. The reasons behind it are multiple. One of them is that it is not easy to fall in love. It demands availability, willingness and there are not so many ways to fall in love but there are many ways to avoid it. But there might be one drop or two of loves or affection in there, when they are together, enough to feed, let’s say a bird or a plant. Who knows? And this does not mean that they do not care for each other. She cares about him and she believes he knows that without her formulating it. Should he ever need her if his close ones are not right beside him, he could always call her. After all those months, he might know that already.

It would be unfair to say it is just lust between them. To enjoy the sex with someone that much and the way they do, there must be more than just lust. The way she kisses him, it is like to show him how important he is in the world. The way she receives him inside her, it is like to acknowledge that he is creative and has such an imaginative mind. Look at the buildings he built, making love to him is like embracing those creations. You cannot make love with that kind of passion unless you soak up the other person’s thoughts, mind and dreams at the same time. Lying there on his bed, like a lizard basking in the sun, she can feel life in all the shades and tones. Each story of each person, once being someone’s lover is a fairytale, a variation of mental and physical unique experience. Self-discovery, experimental kissing, self-examination, orgasmic introspection; that is what it is, every single week, when they get a chance to see each other. There will be no boredom, there will be no routine as they have to re-invent themselves each time. Even the red wine tastes differently each time. The pasta sauce with another touch each time. The intensity of the kisses varies. The songs sung by their bodies sound differently each time. Without being sentimental, and even being in the distance, the differences are felt very profoundly.

The sublimation of the sexual desires is part of the beauty and the delight of the story, allowing them to go apart, living their lives separately after that. There is no sorrow but only longing until the next time they meet, that is totally salutary for them and the hopes that their desires will not expire too soon.

Possibilities

She wakes up this morning knowing she will be happy. There is a space inside of her and beyond her where an infinity of possibilities just dancing in front of her eyes.

There was that moment when she left him the other day in the morning. That precise moment very short, very furtive when she knew. What she knew, what she felt was common to her a long time ago, the time when she was in love. When she left his apartment, when they kissed goodbye, when he held her in his arms, she knew that love has hit her. Gently, softly but very clearly. And that was just it. Like an evidence. Not a surprise. She did not think of what could happen after that feeling. Would it work out between them ? Would they be available for each other ? Would he love her back ? These questions were not relevant as the present moment, the moment of this new-born love, was more important. She was honest to herself. She accepted to be in love. With him and with them and with their story. In this space where they are and where they were, anything can be possible. They are who they are, and they can be no one, and anything could happen to them, as long as there is this connection and intimacy. Because to be anything else, first there should be a connection.

Even knowing that she could get hurt or she could suffer, the suffering is still part of this infinity of possibilities. They have found each other. Somehow, somewhere in their lost souls and extreme loneliness, they have met and they have made space for each other. Short moments, long moments, intense moments they gave to each other. The kisses. The talks. The gazes. The naked bodies. What they offered to each other was never insignificant. Their lives so apart and yet so close, close in the search for another soulmate, or simply for a beautiful connection.

She wakes up this morning, accepting that kind of destiny. The kind of destiny that includes the love for him or the beginning of the love for him. Her heart is full. That is how she starts her day. In a space of infinite possibilities and he is one of them.

You held my hands…

I have been unable to write after this concert with you.

You love the sound of guitar so I chose this concert for you. It was in the Catedral of our city. Saturday night.

You held my hands during the whole concert. When this piece of Piazzolla was played, my hands were in yours. The music of Piazzolla is one of my favorites. I have always loved tango music. It makes me feel melancholic. Sometimes even sad. I have never wished to listen to Piazzolla and my favorite piece “Milonga del Angel” with you by my side. I wanted to post on my blog right after the concert to describe how I felt. Then I could not so I just kept it to myself.

I wish everyone in this world could have the same moment. The Catedral was magical that evening. You touched my hands right after the first piece. And you did not let them go. During the break, you kissed me lightly on my right cheek, then on my hair and my forehead. I posed my head on your left shoulder. You kissed my hands. The two hands. Indifferently, left then right.

You kept my hands after the break. Now they played Bach. The same magic. Or even more. You moved closer to me. Even.

You held my hands that night, the whole night. You did not let me go. We could sleep in a single bed and still had enough space.

I fell asleep in your arms. My hands in yours. I could still hear Piazzolla and Bach. And also your breathe.

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 ?

photo-162

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

photo-9