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.

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The connection

fleur

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.

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.

Nothing was special to him

She was one of these girls

He met and liked

No girl was special to him

She neither

She never doubted that

But had once hoped

He could once feel

There was something about them

Magic at first

Then intensely true

They were beautiful together

They really were

Their laughs worth the whole universe

Their connection beyond rationality

She was one of these girls

No more no less

She was one of these girls

Sadness or tears

Would never change anything

Their beauty, their laughs, their connection

Were never special

To him

 

 

Words for summer

I have a lot more patience for others than I have for myself, and I’m much better at bringing out the best in others than in myself. (Norwegian Wood – Haruki Murakami)

You come back

Each summer

You think we can be back

Together each summer

I wish

You had appreciated me in the past

As much as now

Don’t you realize

Nostalgia is not love

Feeling lonely made you write to me

But it’s not love

I appreciate your words though

Write me again next summer