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.

I would marry him in white, in purple or in any color of the rainbow

photo-93Yesterday I was telling you that my love is calm. And sometimes it just sounds like a melody played by a flute. This morning I woke up at 7 because I had the feeling that my heart was beating so loudly when I thought of him in my sleep, in my dreams, that I needed to wake up. Yesterday I was telling you that my love did not suffocate me anymore. This morning I had to wake up because my heart did suffocate me. Consciously or not consciously, still asleep or not, I felt that my love was heavy and weights on my chest. But not in a negative way. Just physically. I love him so much. I just felt the weigh of that love, of my heart. Really. Physically.  I did not invent it. It is just a natural phenomenon. My love is big. The organ of love is the heart. So my heart weights.

Consciously or not consciously, maybe I was still asleep, I remember at 5 this morning, when I woke up the first time because of my heavy heart, I said to myself – I would ask him to marry me. I, who never once thought of marriage the last ten years. I would marry him in white, in purple, in pastel, in whatever color. I would marry him because people say that the marriage even though useless and is just a piece of paper, is supposed to be the ultimate proof of love. So if people say that, I would do it. If I could do anything to prove my love to him, I would do it. Because I just know that it would be the right thing to do. For me to sleep the whole night without waking up in the middle of it, for that heart to be less heavy, I need to sleep next to him. He would bear that love in my bed, helping me to take away the weigh of my heart. For me to hear the melody of that flute in my head again, I need to hold his hands while falling asleep.

My love is calm yet determined.

Yesterday I could live without him.

This morning the idea is an utopia.

*** Sculpture “Mujer meditando” (Woman on meditation) by José Kuri Brena

And you are home…

Every evening I get back home quite late, after a long day, either after yoga or German class, I always cook something simple. I am not fond of eating cold food in the evening. It takes a bit more time but I feel relaxed when I cook. There is a kind of ritual, I always have dinner with a green tea, in front of the TV. I lost the habit of sitting at a table and eating ever since I have not been in couple anymore. Eating in front of the TV is not healthy apparently but it gives the feeling of having someone talking to you during the meal, or having someone in the apartment. I think people living alone probably have this same habit as me.

But there is always a moment once I finished my dinner, and once the episode of a TV show ended, that suddenly I felt a strong need to talk someone. To share my day, to talk about easy things, about the weather, about anything. But then I also realized that I did not just want to talk to anyone. It became crystal clear that I wanted to talk to HIM. And only him. It’s not just talk, it’s talking and looking in his eyes, those deep green grey eyes. These unreasonable needs were there almost every evening during this winter, while he was away. I could not do anything against it. I could pick up the phone and just call a close friend, if I need to talk. My verbal desire, my need of communication to the world is tightly linked to him. Usually at that moment, I hit the button “play” for another episode of TV show, feeling a bit frustrated, of course.

Yesterday, I went through the same ritual. The only difference was that at that precise moment when I felt the need to talk, I did talk with my voice. And not only in my head. I talked, I told stories, I shared my day. I looked into those green eyes. Because he was there. In flesh and bones. And he listened. I could not stop talking, I had four months of things which had happened in my life to tell him. He listened and swallowed my words. I talked and fell into the depth of his eyes. Sometimes I wanted to say “I love you” in between sentences and words, but I was still a bit intimidated. Sometimes I touched his hands, squeezed his arms, gave him a long kiss on his cheek. I hardly believed he was real. Let alone that he was back.

I put on a Bach concerto, came closer to him, stopped all the words, let him kiss me and undress me. Was I on earth? Was I in heaven? Death, immortality, do I want to live forever for that moment? Or do I want to die right away after that kiss, that touch? I could say “yes” to all these questions.

All I know is I love Bach and I love him. And yesterday evening was one of a kind.