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.

I did it…

I calculate how long it would take to cover your body with kisses.

I would pose my lips on each millimeter of your skin.

Each kiss would last one second.

It would take six hours. At least.

I would not leave out any part of your body.

I would take pleasure in doing it.

I would look at you in the eyes from time to time.

I would smile at you from time to time.

You would let me do it.

You would smile at me.

You would smile at me with your eyes.

You would kiss my hands.

You would return some of my kisses

By kissing me even longer and softer.

This would not be a dream.

As

I did it.

Eight hours.

Between talks.

Laughs.

And love.

I did cover your body with kisses.

Every inch.

You did return my kisses, each of them.

This was not a dream.

In between I remembered saying: I love…

Just “I love…” and no more words

I remembered you saying: “do you…”

And no more words.

This was not a dream.

And the bus is here…

bustop

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.

Resolution (without “s”)

photo-66The whole day I stared at this landscape outside. I started to think of some resolutions I could make for this year. I could think harder, more or less, it all came to one thing. I have a marvelous lucky life. Last week or even two days ago I was under the sun, on the other continent, being in barefoot, having some tortillas in the streets, speaking in another language, laughing after jokes in another language, talking to people, learning something new from another culture. Today I was sitting here, looking at the grey sky in a deep silence of a lake which just started to befriend with the winter. I could not wish for more luck in my life. I wish things would go on like this forever.

I wish I could be healthy enough in my mind, in my heart, in my body to keep on loving like this past year.

That is probably my resolution. Nothing should change. No, really nothing. photo-65

How I understand songs

Today I am sick and stay in bed. Nothing serious. A cold with a strong headache and a bad sore throat.

I accidentally discovered Koos du Plessis, a South African songwriter and singer and really like his songs. There is something with me about songs in a language I could not understand. When we don’t understand the lyrics, we just listen to the sound of each word, we just need to let each note and melody get into us. With no resistance. We can imagine whatever comes to us with the melody. It could be a love song, a song about politics, a song about home and kids. I like the idea that I don’t understand the lyrics. It is like when we meet someone who does not speak our language, we will then have to communicate with this person in a different way, we will have to invent another kind of language, we will observe more. The eyes, the body attitude, anything else would be more important than the language itself and the words. I feel the same with a song I first don’t understand.

I listened to this song three times on the row. It became so familiar that at some point, I was sure I would get the meaning of the song somehow. After the third time, I checked the lyrics.

Live in an endless night, I cried: “Where are you?”
Move your dark curtain open, star, fire me.

I did the same thing with HIM. I don’t always understand him. But I don’t ask questions. I just want to connect with him through a different way. Not always in words. But something we can both feel in the air, between the clouds, in spite of the geographical distance between us. I just want him to become so familiar to me like this song after a while.