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.

Routine

The alarm of the clock on the wall was set to end each training session after five minutes. 9pm sharp he finished the training and came toward me. I was sitting at the reception area. He touched me from behind the neck and asked if I would like something to drink. He said that the coffee here was good and strong. I said: No thanks. Wait for me I will go shower, he added.

Before he left for the shower he introduced me to the owner of the gym and his partner, then some of his sparring partners. When he came back he asked me if I wanted to visit the gym. I said yes. He told me that he liked the color of the wall, a kind of old pink color. He said he came here every evening, mostly because he is the principal coach but also because this place is his second home.

We left the gym and waited for the bus to come. The night was bright as it was full moon. It was not cold at all for a month of October. We went downtown for a drink. He did not talk a lot this time. Normally when we met each other he seemed happier. He told me not to worry as he was not in good shape. I told him that it was okay, we don’t need to talk a lot. For some reason I did not feel the need to talk a lot either. We had each of us a green tea. We looked at each other in silence. But there was no embarrassment in the silence. For the first time since we have known I asked first if we could leave. The idea of seeing him with a sad face made me even sadder than him. It was 11.30 pm. The last bus would be only in one hour. Usually we stayed until there was no more buses passing by. He said ok and held my hands for less than thirty seconds. We walked slowly to a square where all the buses stop. My bus arrived first. I kissed him very quickly on the cheek and entered the bus. He waved at me and sent me a kiss. I smiled at him and waved back.

Later in the night he wrote to me a private message on Facebook: “I am sorry. Bad mood lately. Always a pleasure to see you…”

I answered him early in the morning: “Don’t be sorry. It was nice seeing you though I never like to see you down…”

Then I opened my blog and wrote again after one year and four months of absence. About him. My inspiration.

Later on during the day I wrote him a long letter. I did not say in the letter how much I still love him. Just how much I care.

Later on that night he sent me a good-night song just like he did every night since one year and four months.

Morning scream in music

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A midnight blue, day and night
I’ve been missing you
I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
Almost makes me crazy
Come and live with me

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near
I wrote you a letter, I tried to make it clear
That you just don’t believe that I’m sincere
I’ve been thinking about you, baby

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near

I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
I want you to live with me

This morning I woke up. Definitely calmer than yesterday. Or at least it was the first impression. As soon as my eyes got the first light of the day from a tiny slit of the shutter, an acute pain squeezed my chest but short, quick pain. I projected myself to the future. Something I have never done for months now. Thinking of the future. The thought of the future. Future that meant to be in five week time. When he will be leaving again. His date of departure has not yet been set. But its certainty is undeniable.

I put on this song of Massive Attack. I just discovered it a few days ago. The song penetrated my skin, soaked into my bones. I felt cold. The voice was groaning and moved me deep. Maybe it was circumstantial but each word was cutting me into pieces. “A midnight blue, day and night I’ve been missing you I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby Almost makes me crazy Come and live with me Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near I want you to live with me “.  I could groan in a same hoarse voice mixed with sobs and tears and nobody could distinguish the sadness of the song or that of my soul.

I felt another round of punches. I squeezed tight my pillow, put it over my stomach and wrapped myself, smothered under the blanket. Acute pain, longer, more insistent. He will go away soon. I stayed in the fetus position, my way to protect myself from suffering. For a long while. I could hear the ticking sound of the alarm clock. Like a count-down. Each ticking seemed to count the days left before he is gone again. Each regular ticking sound mixed with the deep regular moaning sound of the song in perfect harmony, sentencing the end of my happiness. For a short while, I had the feeling that I had flirted with a slow death. The feeling of losing him again. Seeing him going away. Again. Seeing him going in another direction, in another part of the world. In this big world we had crossed paths for a second. Just for a second. I heard myself screaming. I screamed the unfairness of life. Of love. Of everything.

The scream lasted with the last note of the song. I disappeared in my large bed. No more sound suddenly. The room fell into silence. But I could still hear my love for him.

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.

The last laugh

“My shadow is only half of what it should be.”
“Everyone has their shortcomings.” (Kafka on the Shore – Haruki Murakami)

Do I remember your last laugh ?

The sound of it

Always familiar

The rest seems far

Do I want to remember your last laugh ?

The desire of it

Today seems far

I don’t even remember when the last time was my heart beats for you

Bad memory or bad will ?

Today everything seems far

Your last laugh

Certainly beautiful

Crazy, I was crazy for trying…

“I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.” (Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami)

These few words of Murakami speak for me. The last few days I hardly think. I am not myself. I feel empty but in a good way. With my head empty. It rarely happened to me.  Empty of thoughts and feelings. Empty even of love. I don’t feel anything special at all. Until yesterday night, actually this morning at four in the morning, I could not sleep and went through his blog. One song particularly filled myself with nostalgia, some kind of sadness. Emptiness was replaced with a sensation of loss. His blog was the same as usual, some beautiful songs. Lately I did not check his blog anymore. I think somehow we had lost each other on the way to find building our relationship or friendship. I think somehow I had dropped all efforts to make it work for him and me. But this song “Crazy” sung by Patsy Cline posted on his blog had touched me deeply. It was indeed a painful feeling to lose a friend. Or not to lose a friend but not to be able to find a decent way to connect with him anymore. Some call it life. Some call it incompatibility of moods or personality, or whatever words I try to find to define what was going on between us, it was just superfluous and meaningless. And the distance between us seemed not only distance but also coldness and indifference. Some people are just not made for me and I just need to accept that and let go.

Here is the song that makes me think about our friendship. This friend who is no longer close to me.

“Crazy, I was crazy for trying…”

Crazy, I don’t miss him anymore. These words once written here put me back into emptiness. This friendship, like a flake of snow, so fragile, has very quickly disappeared, hardly one ray of sun had dared to caress it.

The voice of Patsy Cline resonates in my head. But that is all I had kept from this friendship.

Christmas time and friendship

The last few days I was busy but in a positive way. It is always like this near Christmas time. Getting together with some friends whom I had not seen a lot lately. Last Saturday I went out for brunch at noon and only headed home around midnight as during the whole afternoon, I ran into some friends downtown. We ended up Christmas shopping, enjoying mulled wine, listening to kids singing Christmas carols, and also trying some make-ups. Totally unplanned journey but it was more than nice.

These last few days, I communicated a lot with MD, my sweetest friend aka my guardian angel. We tried to find a date to celebrate his birthday which is on the 24th of December. Also I received regularly mails from the man I loved. It is pure happiness in an easy way. His mails arrive telling me his daily life with smiles and jokes, with songs and movies he shares.

Also yesterday a very dear friend of mine from my hometown came in the city for work and we had lunch together. It felt so good to speak to him in French, my mother-tongue language. Gosh, I have missed it. Then another sweet friend asked me if she could come visit me the next weekend. Of course I said yes. In the evening I went to the opera in which a friend of mine sang. Again I ended up having a drink with my friend and some people in the choir and learning a bunch of things about opera singers.

I arrived home very late at night. I actually walked home and enjoyed the streets with no traffic. I realize that these last days I took life as it came. Spontaneously. I was pretty much contemplating life too. Things are easy when we let them come and flow. I realize that I had known a person whom I consider as a friend but who never gives me any access to his life in order to reach a certain level of trust and friendship. When everything goes easily with other people, I just realize that this person finally had resisted me all the way long and whatever I had tried to do to reach out for him and to give substance to our relationship, it seems like throwing salt in the sea. With him, I was facing a big wall.  This is the only person with whom I feel like I am not trusted and I am not liked. When I look at all my other friendships, I realize that I could probably do nothing about this new person/friend.. I cannot force the access. I just have to accept or let it go. But I also realize that there is nothing better than time to know someone. It is not possible to compare a two-month friendship to a 20-year friendship with my best friend or with MD or with the man I love. I know them so well because I had shared and lived so many things with them. Time is precious to friendship.

Anyway I like this period of time around Christmas. I like connecting with old friends again. And taking life easily with lights, Christmas carols, mulled wine and laughs. And letting go people who don’t trust me or don’t want me in their lives. Holding no grudge. Wishing them well anyway.

Keep it simple

We got to get back to something simple just to save yourselves
Well got to get back to something simple just to save yourselves
Well you got to keep it simple, keep it simple just to – and that’s that

Whoa you got to keep it simple nowadays and that’s just that
Whoa you got to keep it simple nowadays and that’s just the way it is
And you got to keep it simple these days ‘cos that’s the way it is

Well you got to keep it, keep it simple and that’s that

Keep it simple

You don’t know when you are coming home

Let’s keep it simple like this song

I don’t know what is next

Let’s keep it simple

Let this love flows

Let this love grows

In spite of all

I don’t know what to do next

I guess I will wait for you

Til you come home or not

Let’s keep it simple

Let’s not change anything

Let’s not change it to a fling

Because this love is my thing