Letter for a lover

I went on a date yesterday evening. It was boring. I kept it short. I kept on going on dates. It was always boring. My date evenings got shorter and shorter because I just ran away each time. I was bored more quickly. It did not make sense to date when you are in love with someone else and you do not even have time to heal.

Every time I leave a date and go home, I always want to reach out to you. The last time I did it and sent to you a message. In that message, I told you I was “almost” in love with you. I thought I was heroic. I thought I was cute. Declaring my love to you because I ran away from a date and because I knew you were the only one I could love. In that very same message, I also told you that I did not want your divorce, I did not want exclusivity, I did not want anything from you. I wrote that to give you freedom and the liberty of never having to choose me. But when you read the message, it sounds like a terrible love declaration, it sounds clumsy, it sounds immature, it sounds stupid.

It took you three days to answer me that life is difficult for all of us and everything was confusion. I wanted a connection that will last forever and you caring about me. That, at least was on the clumsy message. But to that you did not even answer. You did not care about me. Or you did not want our connection. Who knows. All I have is hypotheses. I reached out to you, after that message. To ask you out for a dinner. It took you a day to answer me that you had to go away for the weekend. You never took that long to answer my invitation to dinner. You never declined my invitation to dinner without suggesting another date.

It has been a week that I did not hear from you. It did happen in the past. But this time it seems like eternity and it seems like you are gone, forever. For whatever reasons. My clumsy love declaration message hurt you or it put you in a distance because my love scares you ? For the last three years, my feelings never scared you, not once. You were always there, whatever I could say to you, you stayed.

So what happened this time?

We used to send to each other videos of puppies and kittens from Instagram. This is how we reached out to each other in the absence. There are so many of them lately, so many cute videos but I look at them and cannot push the “share” button. My love message was clumsy or simply you are gone because of everything else. I bothered you? I annoyed you?

I promised myself to stop going on dates. But I still have to move on. It is not easy to move on and forget you. Simply because it is you. You whom I followed home after the first date. You whose kisses on the first date left a memorable taste. You whose entire body and presence made it impossible to move on.

All of my dates are boring after you. How are yours ?

My clumsy love message should have been: “I am in love with you – I want you – I want you to divorce – I want us to be exclusive – I want everything from you”.

I should have said that and move on. It would be more honest.

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 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.

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.

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.”

 

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.