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.”

 

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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.

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.

In Tulum I have learned to miss you less

photo-58Last week I was in Tulum, Mexico. I touched base with nature and earth. Only me, the infinitely desert beaches and some palm trees. Mornings arrive early in Tulum. At five in the morning, I already found myself lost in the blue sky, barefoot in the sand, following the curves of the horizon, listening to my usual music. Then, nights come early in Tulum. At eight in the evening, there were only me and the sound of waves.

In Tulum, I have learned to live with an empty mind and simplicity. Simplicity in my heart, simplicity in my smiles to the warmhearted people around me. I have learned to live in the dark of the night, with no electricity in my bungalow. I fell asleep sometimes thinking of you and surprisingly, most of the time not.

In this simple life my soul has found peace, more than usual. In this simple life, I have learned to not miss you. Not to be obsessed by your absence.

In Tulum of quietness, I have learned to miss you less in order to love you more. Like the waves, these feelings of missing you came abruptly, hit me strongly then go away as quickly as they could. Somehow predictable like when I was standing at the beach and waiting for the waves to come and get me. I swallowed these waves or they swallowed me. I did not know. The difference did not matter. Then again, things came back to normal. Calm and quiet. Like the mornings. Like the nights in Tulum.photo-59 I have learned to write to you less than usual.

I have learned to miss you less than usual.

I was renewed.

In Tulum.

In order to love you more

Back here at home.photo-61

Late night with no moon

Last night I could not find sleep until 3 in the morning. The snow has melted some days ago and so the rain has taken over ever since. It was raining outside the whole evening. I tried to fall asleep ignoring the repetitive sound of the rain hitting the roof and the windows. My mind wandered. From Thailand to Los Angeles. From one sunny place to another. Where the people whom I care about are right now. My mind wandered back to my place too. People I care about are here too, closer to me. It went on and on like this until very late. I remember in one book Murakami wrote that memories and sensations were usually so uncertain. Memories and sensations to me are so real. As soon as I think of a moment spent with someone who is dear to me, very quickly and spontaneously I can feel with my flesh and blood the prints and sensations of those memories. It always seems like yesterday. Memories and sensations always go hand in hand. I don’t even need to close my eyes to fully remember these moments, the talks, the smiles or the touch. It is always very clear and real to me when I put myself back in memories and pasts.

Yesterday was the same. I could be anywhere. I felt the sand of the beaches. I felt the special light of the day in California. I felt the water of the lakes where I had been last summer. I heard their voices. I heard their laughs. I heard the quiet sound when our days together had come to an end and the days when we were apart.

I could not sleep because all of these memories made me forget the rain outside but kept all my senses awake. Adding to that I let the voice of Audrey Hepburn invading the night, singing “Moon River” to me when I was pretty sure that outside it could be only rain and no moon. Nights like this could bear no moon.

In this “cruel” world of dating

I have a sweet girlfriend who was torturing herself the last few days, trying to find out whether she would text a colleague to ask him out, as he had written to her several mails and texts. She asked me almost every day what she should do and if she writes to him, how the tone of the text message would be and in which frequency she should answer to him, etc and etc. She indeed asked herself a lot of questions as relating to the “behaviors and rules” in dating.

I am no expert in dating. And I usually don’t write about dating advices or hints on this blog because I only want to write about love in an absolute form, rather than about dating, which is more “down to earth” and more “tactical” to me. But as my friend asks questions, and a lot, it makes me think.

Yes, I think I do have a rule in dating. HONESTY. Yes, to be honest and to be yourself. In the “cruel” world of dating. My rule is the NO-RULE. I answered to my friend: “If you want to write to him just do it. If you want to text him right away after his texts, just do it. In the evening, if you feel like writing him a mail, just to do it.” You cannot go wrong if you always do things in complete agreement with yourself. Because in the end, all you ever did is to really act as you has felt, with no games and with honesty. Because in the end, all people could feel in you, in your texts, in your mails is your honesty. I told her not to think too much, not to torture herself with some strategies. The truth is always the best way to get closer to someone and it also gives the other person the possibility either to come closer to you or to reject you. The sooner you know it, the better.

I remember I met a man who now is a very good friend of mine. We had a thing going on for a while. And at the time, he said something that I really liked: “Truth is great because even if it can hurt sometimes. When someone tells you the truth, he does a favor to you. Knowing is the best thing it can happen to you.” He also told me something that I liked even more: “If you want to write to me every day and several times, just do it. If you miss my mails, just tell me. If you want me more, just tell me so. Don’t worry about how I would feel. Believe me, I can handle. If I don’t want any of them, I will tell you the truth too. Just be yourself all the way long. You will never be disappointed with yourself when you are honest. Don’t worry about me and how I would react when receiving your words. Don’t build assumptions based on your own thoughts and analyses“

Since then I was even more honest. I never regret any of my words or acts. I did everything with sincerily and selflessly. The best thing about it is I have gotten to know the best people, people who are like me and who can handle my words, my mails, my intentions, without being scared.

My girlfriend finally wrote to her colleague to invite him out for a movie. She said she appreciated him. She was really sincere. He stayed silence for a while and then answered to her that he only wanted to flirt with her and had no intentions to go for a movie with her, and he had a hard time to decide whether he wants a woman in his life or not.

She was disappointed for a few days but glad that finally she knew. It saved her time and energy. Her being honest was contagious. Her colleague became honest too. And that is such a good thing in the “cruel” world of dating.

The price of love

“Loving another person is a wonderful thing, and if that love is sincere, no one ends up tossed into a labyrinth. You have to have more faith in yourself.” (Norvegian Wood – Haruki Murakami)

I wish someday you could find a home where I live. You would come back, with all your luggage and stay. You would be tired of these countries, more exotic, more exciting than the one of you and me. You would find your way back to us. Your home would be with me or not, but the dust and the sensation of freedom from all of your trips, you could always keep them. Your wings would be forever yours and you could always walk away again. When boredom catches up with you and your wings needs to fly. In the meantime, I would still welcome you to my place, to my heart. We would still walk through our Old Town, hand in hand. This energetic way of yours when holding my hands. We would still chill out on the couch and listen to some music. This poetic way of yours when looking at me in music. We would still kiss all nights. This passionate way of yours when kissing me. You would rest before a new trip. You would find your way out once you had given me all you had.

I love you because you could never be kept in one place, just for me. I love you because exactly I could only see you with wings and dust. It is the kind of love which could not see you daily in our home. For that kiss to be forever passionate, for that gaze to be forever intense, for that embrace to be forever warm, I need to set you free. I would stay right in front of the porch, seeing you walking away, waiting for you to come back. My whole life. Not once, my love has changed. Not once, you have changed. Your body and soul would be the incarnation of freedom, accessible to me every once in a while, but in the most powerful and exquisite way. It is the price that I accept to pay. I would not prefer to love you another way.

The windy city

IMG_4153Chicago also known as the windy city. Chicago deserves this reputation. Yesterday the sky was so blue and the wind was so strong between the blocks of buildings. I went for a walk by the lake side. Unbelievable cold and delirious wind. There was something very particular about a strong wind. It was completely wild and out of control. I could not feel anything yesterday while walking. I just tried to move forward, as though I was trying to break through a transparent wall which kept on pushing me in the other direction. When you try to cross through this thick transparent wall, for a  few seconds, you have the feeling that you are losing your mind. The wind seemed to tear my face and dried up its skin. Tears started to come out from my eyes. I kept on moving. My hands without gloves were almost frozen. I had been walking like that for more than one hour already.

IMG_4162I had the impression of losing control of everything I had once possessed, my body and my mind at the same time. Fighting with the wind. To keep on moving forward and to stay warm. Concentrating uniquely on my body. Where I could still grasp some heat left. My mind was gone somewhere else. I could not think anymore. It was deadly cold. I was not used to such wind and cold. Yet I continued to walk for hours.

There was something crazy with a zest of masochism walking like that by the shore. At some point, I thought I could not deal with the wind anymore, yet I wanted to reach the endpoint of the island. Sometimes I just wondered if my feelings for you were also like challenging the wind, this kind of wind in particular, the kind of wind in Chicago. As though part of me was asking for a slight pain. Something I could not control, something which could drive me crazy, something which could make me losing my mind, something I could not surrender but it was easy to just stop walking and take a cab back. And yet as though I put my whole soul and body in it, trying to surpass the impossible.

Sometimes I think you are my wind. But the satisfaction was that I did get to the end of the island. For me it was an achievement. Literally I was freezing cold.

Yesterday I compared you to the Chicago wind. If I ever made it for us, you would then become a warm wind, the wind from the South.

What kept me alive while walking was the idea of you, becoming one day the warm wind.IMG_4147

Free fighting

Yesterday I went to see the free fight championship at your club. There was a huge crowd and loud music as usual. I recognized some songs from Eminem. I ran into your best friends. I said hello. They asked me where you were traveling at the moment because they had no news from you since. I talked for a little while with the father of your best friend. He asked me in Italian why I was here and not with you, somewhere in the world. I remember I answered him: “E la vida”. (It’s life). He touched my cheek slightly as a sign of compassion.

The atmosphere was the same as the several last championships. Like the time you were referee. Like the time you fought. I had never felt any violence in free fighting. Probably because you initiated me to watching it and you used to explain to me all the moves and techniques. And as you were such a peaceful person, I could never link free fighting to violence.

Yesterday I was sitting at the first row. Missing you all the time. Missing you was the weakest word to express my feeling. It was the first time since you left that I started to count in my head the weeks left until you could be back home.

Inevitably last night I dreamt of you. We were in my house where I used to live during my childhood. It was a strange association. You were so real in the dream. In the dream you held my hands the whole time. You were so handsome. I was breathless. It was hot weather in the dream. I showed you my garden where I used to play. It was so real. You told me that all your injures were now cured. I woke up in the middle of the night. My pillow was wet. Of tears. I might have cried out of happiness during the dream, for being able to touch you once again. Then I fell asleep again with the still wet pillow at exactly at 4 in the morning.

This morning I saw that you sent me a long mail at 4.02 am. Probably you had seen and felt my tears. You asked me about the free fight night and wondered if I was scared being at the first row and so close to the ring.

My morning started with a dry tear and your sweet words. My dry tear whispered to me: “I love him.”