Flow and waves

“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven’t loved enough.” (The Forty Rules of Love – Elif Sharaf)

To the people who say that I am obsessed about you, I answered I am indeed.

To the people who say that I might scare you away with my love, I answered I might indeed.

To the people who say that you are probably used to my love by now, I answered you probably are indeed.

I love you enough to bear any thoughts about us.

Loving you is like running toward the ocean, seeing the waves and throwing myself in them, letting the waves caressing my body over and over again, with no resistance.

Loving you is not only like living the flow of our story, but being the whole time the flow itself, inventing the story, inventing us, holding us in my hands, yet with no control.

But that is the difficult part to explain so I let the people think whatever they think about us. Somehow I had become the flow and the waves, taking everything about us with me. And this a long time ago.

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A Christmas dinner

“Memories are what warm you up from the inside. But they’re also what tear you apart.” (Kafka on the Shore – Haruki Murakami)

The house was beautifully decorated for Christmas. White candles here and there, white silk pillows on the couch in perfect match with silver and gold garlands. The Christmas tree was small. It was just enough to illuminate and add warmth to the room. The table was set for eight. With some more candles and sequined confetti. The hostess was busy, welcoming the guests and going in and out the kitchen, nervously. She seemed to worry a bit about the cooking time for the turkey. She served us champagne. The guests knew her well. The more she got stressed, the more she talked and agitated her arms and hands. I looked at you. It was the first time you were with my friends. You had worn your nicest shirt to be with me that night. You looked at me and smiled. I had told you stories about our hostess. You smiled and made me understand that you confirmed the veracity of my stories. The hostess was a nice friend of mine but she always acted a bit like a mother who cared too much more than a girlfriend. I looked at you once again. I observed how you could be with my friends. You seemed at ease. You talked a bit to other people but you stayed close to me. My friends observed you. It was the first time I brought a date to a party. Especially at a Christmas party.

The dinner was delicious. The roasted turkey was just perfectly cooked. The gravy was made with prune juice and honey. The hostess was proud. You told me that you had never tried such dish. It was not in your culture to eat turkey at Christmas. You told me you would tell your mother about the meal because you would not forget it for a long time. I looked at you during the whole dinner. I saw you listen to other people. I saw you smile. I saw you laugh. You were not shy but you were not talkative either. You were being yourself. You had your way to look at people when you talked to them. Your whole personality was carried in your eyes, these green grey eyes of yours. I had never met someone who had such sincere and intense look. When you talked to people, you seemed to really care. I looked at you and enjoyed the spectacle. The unique spectacle. You were on the show. Just for me when I looked at you. You did not notice. You did not know. You were too humble to think that that evening you were my one man show. I ate very few. I felt filled with emotions of all kinds because you were there. I could not eat and observed at the same time. I felt like focusing on you was the only way I could feed myself that evening. From time to time, you touched my hands under the table. After each touch, I felt full. Full of sentiments. The beginning of my love for you. Probably during that dinner I fell in love with you. Or maybe a week after that. Or maybe a week before that. Somewhere at my place. Somewhere in the mountains. Somewhere. Necessarily somewhere it had happened. I was confused. I did not remember when. I remember I fell in love with you so deeply I could not even remember when. Because the feeling of love was so powerful that it erased all of my memories and invaded my brain to leave room just for the feeling of love itself. But that Christmas dinner might be a reference date. Let’s say it was at the Christmas dinner.

In one week I will have the same dinner again. My friend, the talkative, easily stressed, mother-like hostess will prepare the same turkey with that exquisite prune gravy you had really adored. She invited you. She already told me about the Christmas decoration for this year. You will not be there.

In one week at that dinner memories will come back. Next to me will be sitting someone else. I will observe everything carefully as if you were still there. Just to tell you everything after that. I will tell you about the color of the garlands this year. I will try this turkey and tell you how it tastes. You will know every detail of the evening. The feeling of love this year will certainly be less powerful. As it was long time ago replaced by the love. The so certain love that I don’t need to remember. The feeling of love which had been born during a Christmas dinner and the love which continues beyond a thousand of Christmas meals.

Don’t you remember the famous quote of Lamartine “Un seul être vous manque et tout semble dépeuplé » (Only one person is missing and all seems depopulated). My Christmas dinner this year will have the taste of a depopulated evening.

Walking you through your storm

“I wasn’t in love with her. And she didn’t love me. For me the question of love was irrelevant. What I sought was the sense of being tossed about by some raging, savage force, in the midst of which lay something absolutely crucial. I had no idea what that was. But I wanted to thrust my hand right inside her body and touch it, whatever it was.” (South of the Border, West of the Sun – Haruki Murakami)

You opened up to me

You dropped the mask

Being yourself

Showing your wounds

Talking about your feelings

Revealing your injured heart

Accepting my offer

Being my friend

Letting me be your friend

Choosing honesty

Finally we communicate

Words that meant something

Leaving me awake all night

I am overwhelmed

Having you as a friend

Accepting my hands

Accepting my ears

I will walk with you

Through this

You will get there

Your heart will know no more storms

This is your early Christmas gift

Us finding your old love

A world within and apart

People keep on asking me why I did not stop loving him. What impedes me to get out of a relationship like this one? Most of the times I did not answer but just smiled. A few times I answered and said something. “Just because…”. How could one know why he/she stays in love or in a relationship? I could name a thousand of reasons to not love him and to not be there for him. Then it might just be one reason to stay as it is and keep on giving him all I have. And this reason is enough, at least for me at the moment. I don’t love to be loved back. I don’t give to receive. When I talk to him from far away, I don’t need any reason to persuade me to be there for him, probably forever.

But there might be something. There is something in him that draws me deeper and deeper into this relationship. This something is particular and unpredictable. He is different from the others. He never acts like anybody else. In certain situations, when people act cold, he is warm. When people get mad, he smiles and accepts. When I think he is mad at me, he is there. When I think he would definitely push me away because I was annoying, he holds me back.

There might be clearly something. Certainly the feel of his hands and his eyes over me. I had never felt such touch and emotion. It was very different from any other touch of hand that I have ever known. His gaze also was very different especially when we talked to each other, when he looked at me in the morning. As if he wanted to see through my soul. When he touched me, he created a parallel world for the two of us, a world within the world we live in with other people. A world in which everything was possible. If you wish for wings to fly, you could have them. If you wish for dreams to come true, they will. Anything. You close your eyes, wish for something in our world and you have it. This was the way he looked at me. In a way that all “maybe” and “probablys” could easily become “certainlys”.

If you ask me once again why I stay in love with him, I think I could give you this approximate answer. Because I still want to travel to this place he created for me and for him. I still want to explore it. As long as I see myself in this place with him, I will stay in love. Even though he is not with me everyday. This world was already there, waiting for me. I just could not move on without getting there first. He might be there. He might not. He had already given me his words:

“whatever we would become one day, whatever shape our relationship would take, we will stay connected”

Certainly in OUR place. Where else ?

Equally good

Sometimes you are like a melody

Sometimes you are like a whole song

Sometimes you are like a paragraph

Sometimes you are like a whole book

Sometimes you are like a day

Sometimes you are like a whole year

Sometimes you are like a tiny fragment of the universe

Sometimes you are like a whole world

Sometimes you are like a friend

Sometimes you are like the love of my life

But as small things and important things

All mean the same to me

And matter the same way

You can be all or nothing

Equally good to me

As it is

A quick love

Autumn is here. I took this picture very quickly this morning because I love the yellow color of the leaves. And most of all, because it will not last.

I have the feeling that I also love you in a rush while I could love you slowly. Just because most likely I know it will not last. Not me stop loving you. Just us. As ephemeral as the yellow color of the leaves. But so beautiful while it is here.

I know why I miss you

“She’s letting out her feelings. The scary thing is not being able to do that. When your feelings build up and harden and die inside, then you’re in big trouble.” (Norwegian Wood – Haruki Murakami)

It stroke me

Like a lightning

Late last night

Why have I missed you when you were not around ?

I miss the humanity in you.