I didn’t spend much time with her, and we hardly talked at all, but I feel as if she’s living inside me now. Like she’s part of me. I don’t know how to put it. (After Dark – Haruki Murakami)
Your words make me feel sad. Our lives and those of human beings are complicated. Those of couples are even more, incredibly complicated. At first glance, they all seem the same but then they are all different in each tiny detail.
I did not go home pretending nothing had happened between us. Our encounter existed in me. You don’t know me, you don’t know how I function, how I live, how I behave, what I share or not, what I am looking for in my daily life. I don’t want to believe that we will never see each other again, that we will never exchange mails and letters again. It would be stupid and sad.
I called you tonight but you did not pick up the phone. I would like to talk to you. I would like to check on your moods and states of mind. As it was not possible, I will be the one who talks. Monologue it will be.
You write so beautifully. I re-read all of your letters. We had made it come true, from the dream of a Far-East city to the reality of another adventure in another city, lost somewhere in Europe. We had made it possible, from illusion to reality, to our reunion, which was much more beautiful than dreams and anything else.
Darling, I had dealt with you, I had confronted you, I had hugged you, made love to you, talked to you, looked at you, learned from you, learned from myself thanks to you. These moments were extremely rare, much more for me than for you, I think. These people we could meet, with whom we could create a bond, a connection. Connection and bond that we need to invent day after day. Connection and bond that request moments spent together and could only exist and survive if desire and trust are there too. You are these people, these connection and bond for me.
I could not understand your decision to walk away. I could understand your need to protect yourself from being hurt. I was hurt and surprised that you regretted our encounter. You regretted everything we had created together these last weeks. More than a disappointment, it was a betrayal that I could barely accept. I could not assume your bitterness which erased all we had.
I could only talk about rare encounters, magical moments and happiness, about people who count, so that our lives become livable. It is my only way to live love, the kind of love I wish to all nowadays. Much more important and effective than a promise of an exclusive and long lasting commitment.
I wish this is the beginning of a story, a story whose destination I still have no clue of, but maybe just to make it possible the day I could hear you play harpsichord and meet your future red fish.