The end of the blog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lovers in all colors


Before yesterday

Lovers under the sun


Lovers under the wind


Lovers under the drizzle

Rainbow comes then disappear

Lovers in yellow

Lovers in blue

Lovers in white

Dancing waiting


Swirling in the change of seasons

She is one of them

Dancing waiting

Not wondering

She is the lover who holds the rainbow

Standing still and strong

Defying the whirlwind

Offering him serenity

In the color of his choice


Painting “Lovers in blue” by Marc Chagall

Ask her if she prefers…


Ask her if she prefers the warmth without him

Ask her if she prefers the sun without him

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

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

The cold is warm with him

The rain is fun with him

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

With him life is simple

Appearances, superfluous values, materialistic dreams

Nothing counts, nothing matters

She shines with him in no diamonds and gold

With him she can live out of nothing

Like in the old days

When only love is enough

Like the French proverb:

“Living only out of love and fresh water”

Ask her if she prefers…

And the answer is already clear…

“I prefer nothing without him”

Sounds common

But that’s just it.


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

And the bus is here…


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

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

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

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

19 minutes. 18 minutes. 17 minutes.

Three seconds.  Two seconds. One second.

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

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

The connection


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

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

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

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

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

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

I trust the sun


Powerful yet silken sun

I have found the right words

I have located the exact feelings

I have shaped the exact form

Sun like this

Let me know exactly what I need to know

I love you

Until the last ray of sun

Disappears by the end of the day

I still have a simple certainty

Things between us will always end in laughs anyway

Trust the sun

To dry out the tears

If tears ever come one day

I have found the right words today

I love you

And I trust the sun



I hope she dreams of him too…

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

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

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

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


Old notes


Would you be my last dance?

Dancing through the same song

Of the broken record

Would you agree to love me madly?

Loving me through the same life

Of a mended heart

Would you promise to dissipate the clouds?

To bring back the sun

Would you mind if I ask?

In my old notes written after our first meeting

“Damn, he is the best…”

After a few hours with you

Would you mind not to change?

My old notes have changed color, look like years ago

Yesterday I wrote a new line, but an easy one

“he is the best…still”

Would you accept to be nothing

To cherish the “you and me”

I have nothing to lose

But ask

My old notes had agreed so

Even dusty and colorless

But old notes never lie

A good person


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

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

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

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

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

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

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