Every evening I get back home quite late, after a long day, either after yoga or German class, I always cook something simple. I am not fond of eating cold food in the evening. It takes a bit more time but I feel relaxed when I cook. There is a kind of ritual, I always have dinner with a green tea, in front of the TV. I lost the habit of sitting at a table and eating ever since I have not been in couple anymore. Eating in front of the TV is not healthy apparently but it gives the feeling of having someone talking to you during the meal, or having someone in the apartment. I think people living alone probably have this same habit as me.
But there is always a moment once I finished my dinner, and once the episode of a TV show ended, that suddenly I felt a strong need to talk someone. To share my day, to talk about easy things, about the weather, about anything. But then I also realized that I did not just want to talk to anyone. It became crystal clear that I wanted to talk to HIM. And only him. It’s not just talk, it’s talking and looking in his eyes, those deep green grey eyes. These unreasonable needs were there almost every evening during this winter, while he was away. I could not do anything against it. I could pick up the phone and just call a close friend, if I need to talk. My verbal desire, my need of communication to the world is tightly linked to him. Usually at that moment, I hit the button “play” for another episode of TV show, feeling a bit frustrated, of course.
Yesterday, I went through the same ritual. The only difference was that at that precise moment when I felt the need to talk, I did talk with my voice. And not only in my head. I talked, I told stories, I shared my day. I looked into those green eyes. Because he was there. In flesh and bones. And he listened. I could not stop talking, I had four months of things which had happened in my life to tell him. He listened and swallowed my words. I talked and fell into the depth of his eyes. Sometimes I wanted to say “I love you” in between sentences and words, but I was still a bit intimidated. Sometimes I touched his hands, squeezed his arms, gave him a long kiss on his cheek. I hardly believed he was real. Let alone that he was back.
I put on a Bach concerto, came closer to him, stopped all the words, let him kiss me and undress me. Was I on earth? Was I in heaven? Death, immortality, do I want to live forever for that moment? Or do I want to die right away after that kiss, that touch? I could say “yes” to all these questions.
All I know is I love Bach and I love him. And yesterday evening was one of a kind.