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.

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.

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.”

 

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 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.

Happy New Year to you !

My love,

Your words came in the night while I was asleep.

The start into 2015 seems peaceful. I am convinced that one day we will be together.

I wrote to you at 00:00 that I would bribe God to give you the best of the best.

You wrote to me that nothing should need to be said as we know we are here for each other.

I am in a couple with a man who leaves me alone yesterday evening because his child decided not to come to my place. They were up in the mountains with friends and he agreed to that. I was supposed to join them but my lumbago did not allow me to. I was surprised they did not even think to take the train 2 hours to get back to the city to be with me on the 31st. I am still with this man. I have tried and put all the efforts to make it work. I have even forgotten you to make it work. Symbolically when I am sick I cannot count on him. I don’t mind spending yesterday evening thinking of you. I only mind that I am not free and somehow I am not completely yours in this way.

I love you. I love you with everything I have, with all my heart. You have been my inspiration for the blog. You are in my mind every single day. I was such a fool to think that I could forget you and move on. You are the kind of man who prefers to see me happy with another man. You are scared not to be able to give me a stable life, a normal life. You think you are poor and cannot afford a decent life for me. But you give me everything else. You are the air that I breathe.

January the 1st. I need to get out of my relationship. Not because of you. I want to be free. Not because of you. There is no connection whatsoever between the failure of my relationship and you. Not because of you. Because of the love I have for you since years. The love which impedes me to love someone else though I tried.

You are apart. You are royal. You are everything I like, love and treasure. Everything. I can’t say enough. Everything. I can’t find anything I dislike in you. Most of all because you are free, not judgmental, generous.

I can’t write always the same thing. I love you. And as of this 1st January I will grow old with you. I have to.