The Great Gatsby or something else ?

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“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced–or seemed to face–the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.” (The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald)

It is difficult not to like the new “The Great Gatsby” movie, simply because the text written by Fitzgerald was so beautiful. I read the book at high-school. I remember I did not understand the whole meaning of it. I was seventeen. I remember having an oral exam on the book and had to talk about Daisy. Last night when I saw the movie I realized that by the time I did not even realize that Gatsby was that much in love with Daisy. I did not remember at all the pain and love of Gatsby in the 1974 movie with Redford and Farrow. But this time it hit me so strong. Maybe because I am in love and I can now fully understand the kind of love and obsession Gatsby had for Daisy. For a moment I felt a bit uncomfortable during the movie. I was irritated because I was with a friend and when the movie ended I just wanted to be by myself and stay in silence but he kept asking me my opinions about the movie. I found the movie beautiful because each word written by Fitzgerald made sense to me. More by now than when I was seventeen. I finally understood Gatsby and the book. I felt pain because Gatsby’s dream pursuit was so absolute and impossible. It was unbearable to see such unique belief in love, in dreams, in conquests. I was touched and that was probably why I liked this new version of The Great Gatsby. I found it explicit, exuberant and extremely modern. Showing love in that way is attractive to me. But at night I had an very agitated sleep.

This morning I decided to go for a walk in the park to get for my mind some fresh air. The movie of yesterday evening still got into me. I walked through the park and took only pictures of the flowers. It was raining and cold for the month of May. But the colors of the flowers were absolutely perfect. In spite of  the grey sky the flowers still looked magical. It was strange. My eyes and my body were not in harmony because I got cold after a while but my eyes were completely satisfied with what I saw. It went on like that, this strange feeling during the whole time I was walking through the park. It made me think of my love for him. It is not always in harmony with what I think, with my brain but it does not matter. Sometimes my body feels pain of missing him, but my heart is so blessed that it does not matter. It was like the cold my body felt in the park. The imperfection of the moment. Yet the eyes were still captivated by the beauty of the flowers. My love for him is like the flowers in the park under the cold rain. A perfection remains in harmony with the imperfection of the situation. photo-152

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Then my mind wandered back to the movie. I felt like Gatsby. Full of hopes and dreams and illusions. Innocence. Purity. Was it because of the movie? Or the book? Or the nature? Or the flowers? Or the love for him ? Or simply a bit of all of it together? I did not know the answer, yet it felt good that way.

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I see you

lac

You know how much I like you?

When I am with other men, talking, laughing, socializing, I can see you in their eyes, in the curves of their eyebrows. I can see you looking at me and smiling to me. When they laugh, I see you.

When I walk down the street, I see an old man on a bench, eyes in the sky, I see you. I see a mother with a stroller, I see you. I see a kid with an ice cream, I see you. I see myself rubbing it to your face and licking the ice cream melting on your broken nose.

When people wish me luck to find a new man, I see you. I see myself answering them: “I had found this guy”.

You know how much I like you?

I like you as much as I can see you everywhere I go. My eyes have no other vision than you. And someday when you will disappear, I will fall into the dark of blindness. Till then, I let you be my vision, my universe, my infinity.

 

And the bus is here…

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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

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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

jonquille

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.

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Old notes

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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

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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.

What you could like

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At first I thought it was spring rain

But then I still felt the cold

I thought of you when it started to rain

I thought of you again when a timid ray of sun tried to shadow the raindrops

I thought of you because the cold would frighten you

I knew exactly how you would feel in the cold

The weak ray of sun would make you smile

I thought I knew what would make you happy

I looked at the world

Thinking of you

No details could escape my mind

I thought of what you could like and not like

Even mundane details

Like the rain tonight

I guessed

You thought of me sometimes

I guessed

You loved me sometimes

And little by little

I observed you

No details could escape my mind

Even mundane details

Something told me

That you loved me sometimes

And little by little

Day after day

While I love you

All the time

Fulminantly

Right from the beginning

I felt the spring rain

The shy ray of sun still there

Caressing my cheeks

I felt the warmth

And everything you could like

The sweet and warm taste of the raindrops

Playing with the sun

Convinced me

I was part of what you like too