And now you have a decent coffee

IMG_9212In one night snow covered the whole street and the roofs of the houses were shining in a bright sparkling white, partly because of the snow and mostly because of the reflection of the light on it. Yesterday I had a severe lumbago for the fifth time this year. The discal hernia is not getting any day better. It is just a matter of time. All was calm outside. You put on the music of the movie “Fresa y chocolate”, an old Cuban movie, one of my favorites as well as the soundtrack. You came for dinner but I could not move. I did not try to put any explanation about the pain in my back. There would be no psychological explanation this time. I believe my back was just in a very bad shape since a year. Or maybe if I dare, I have been living not such an easygoing life this past year.

You brought a small coffee maker, a metallic one, enough for two persons. I always drink instant coffee and for you an Italian, it would be a bit a pain to share an instant coffee with me even if politely you had never once criticized the awful taste of it. You said that now I can have a decent coffee in the morning. You showed me how to prepare it. You showed me how to wash it. You insisted not to use any detergent and only water. You showed me how to use the washing machine as for years now I have always washed the dishes myself. You fixed the broken lamp in the kitchen. The one in the living room and in the hall. You cleaned my computer. You installed all the apps to make it safer. You showed me everything possible that would make my life easier with a computer. You cooked as I could not. You said that you are the boss so that you could put any ingredients you like in the recipe. You cooked and cleaned. You gave me a back massage. A strong one as if I was one of your free fighters. You used the Thai massage oil – the one you gave me after your trip in Phuket.

Outside it was still snowing and even more intense. You looked outside the window and told me that you could never forget our week together in the mountains three years ago. It was two months before you left the city for the first time. We went through the memories date by date, month by month. I was surprised you remember so much about us. I told you that once before you board for Thailand I was in Tokyo, in a hotel room, waiting for your call, I was taking a bath when you called. When the phone rang I jumped out of the bath without a towel, all soaked and talked to you, naked in the room, so scared to miss your call. Funny thing is that I pretended to be totally cool when you asked me: “How are you? What are you doing?” I answered: “Oh you know, nothing special”. Yesterday night I told you the truth. I made you laugh. You remember my birthday card, a card written with a “I f…king love you” with a huge red heart on it. I gave you the card two months before your birthday so that you could have it on the birthday while traveling. But you could not wait and opened it the day after. And you told me that when we met again. I was so ashamed. It was always easier to declare one’s love by message than face to face. I told you I was ashamed and should not be doing that. You answered: it was really alright, I love the card.

We went through our years together. Upon dinner. We have our ways to talk about things without being too sentimental and yet we are. Maybe it is just the way we look at each other and the words we use are very simple, very innocent. Would it be different if we talk to each other in your mother-tongue language. You said several times you loved being with me. You used the word “love” just like that. You said you loved my hands, my smile. Simple like that when you said “love”. In your mouth it sounds simple and pure.

I told you about the tattoo of your initial once I wanted to have. You said that luckily I did not do it as for now I would regret it and a lot. No, I don’t. Even now I would not regret it. I said. You looked at me. I could read in your gaze a bit of surprise but also a bit of sadness.  “Really?”. Yes, really. You should not doubt it. I did not say it out loud. It was intense enough.

I wish I could find another way to describe “us”. I wish I had a word stronger than the one I used to define “us” and our connection. This morning I woke up. My back was still in pain. I made my first coffee with your coffee pot. It tasted much better. I washed it only with water. The snow has stopped falling for a while. The street was white. The color of the sky too. All is calm. I have always loved the next morning after being with you. Life seems different. The whole perspective of life seems different after you. Life is full of dust and you are pure and completely out of our conventional system that seeing you always make me want to accomplish greater things. You are the only person who makes me believe that I can be different and better.

I looked at my cup of coffee, half empty and half warm. I miss your eyes. I miss the way you look at my heart which is full of our memories.

In one day we enter 2015. How can I define “us” ? It is everything. From my cup of coffee which reminds me of you to anything else that exists between us for more than three years now.

2015 could be anything. I believe. If things stay this way. The question of what we would become is so secondary. Because we can be anything. You give me this. Faith and perspective.

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And the bus is here…

bustop

Most of the times you don’t like to miss the bus late in the night because the following one would come in at least 20 minutes. And when it is cold, and when it is raining, you just want to get home as quickly as possible as your day was already too long.

But sometimes the “most of the times” does not work. You just miss the bus. The next one is indeed in 20 minutes. But this time you don’t mind. Because he is there, waiting with you. It is cold. It is raining. You have never been that happy that you had missed the bus. You have never been that grateful that the wait was at least 20 minutes. You even wish for the bus to come later than scheduled. You would not mind at all. It is cold. It is raining.

You get soaked in his arms. Each kiss is wet of tenderness. He holds you tight. All the year long, you hate the rain, you hate the cold. Now the cold is your ally, the rain your best friend. You feel like a heroin in an old movie. You feel like you are in front of your hero. You feel his lips. Over and over again. The 20 minutes are the worthiest ones to live, the worthiest ones on the planet “Time”.

You feel like a kid. You feel like an adolescent falling in love for the first time. You feel like an accomplished woman knowing when it is true love. You want to say something. But there is no need to say anything. Your eyes mean any expression of love all together.

19 minutes. 18 minutes. 17 minutes.

Three seconds.  Two seconds. One second.

The bus is here. One last kiss. After how many kisses. 19 minutes. 60 seconds in a minute. One kiss a second. 1’140 kisses. Or something like that. The last kiss. You feel it like a deep cut.

You enter the bus. You wave at him. In the rain he waves back. He is magisterial. He is majestic. You turn your head. You cannot stand anymore this view of him. Your chest is exploding. You know this kind of romantism would kill you if you continue. You know that this kind of love is the best but also the worst. You touch your lips. A bit numb of his kisses. You smell your fingers embalmed with his perfume. You look outside. The rain is still there. You count the raindrops and find them infinitely smaller than the amount of love you feel for him. You look outside. You love your city. You love the night bus. And everything he has seen with you.

Impotence

“And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west” (The Elephant Vanishes – Haruki Murakami)

Trying to be close to someone is one of the most difficult things to experience for oneself. At some point the more I try to create closeness, the larger the distance between me and the person will be. The efforts are useless and vain. If efforts there were to be. It is like running without being able to move forward and to have the feeling that my feet could not even be lifted of the ground. It is like staring at a strong stream of water from above, but somehow your eyes  functioning in a slower movement than the water. Impossible to follow the stream. It is like dropping an object in the waterfall, watching it flowing away, increasingly further and further. With a feeling of absolute impotence.

Trying to be close to someone when the relationship does not flow is frustrating and painful. Reaching out in words when words are just words. They never carry any truth, yet I still have to use them. Reaching out in acts. Acts are more meaningful than words. But acts are meant to be received. Reaching out in emptiness when the other person is a ghost. The shadow of him is the only thing I can follow. This same shadow surrounded by secrets and darkness. My words and acts then resonate with no echo.

Trying to be close to someone sometimes is like walking without moving, speaking with no sound, singing with no notes and slowly becoming a ghost myself.  That is when feelings go south. Seeing myself digging a ditch and burying all memories left. And his ghost waving at me goodbye.

Free fighting

Yesterday I went to see the free fight championship at your club. There was a huge crowd and loud music as usual. I recognized some songs from Eminem. I ran into your best friends. I said hello. They asked me where you were traveling at the moment because they had no news from you since. I talked for a little while with the father of your best friend. He asked me in Italian why I was here and not with you, somewhere in the world. I remember I answered him: “E la vida”. (It’s life). He touched my cheek slightly as a sign of compassion.

The atmosphere was the same as the several last championships. Like the time you were referee. Like the time you fought. I had never felt any violence in free fighting. Probably because you initiated me to watching it and you used to explain to me all the moves and techniques. And as you were such a peaceful person, I could never link free fighting to violence.

Yesterday I was sitting at the first row. Missing you all the time. Missing you was the weakest word to express my feeling. It was the first time since you left that I started to count in my head the weeks left until you could be back home.

Inevitably last night I dreamt of you. We were in my house where I used to live during my childhood. It was a strange association. You were so real in the dream. In the dream you held my hands the whole time. You were so handsome. I was breathless. It was hot weather in the dream. I showed you my garden where I used to play. It was so real. You told me that all your injures were now cured. I woke up in the middle of the night. My pillow was wet. Of tears. I might have cried out of happiness during the dream, for being able to touch you once again. Then I fell asleep again with the still wet pillow at exactly at 4 in the morning.

This morning I saw that you sent me a long mail at 4.02 am. Probably you had seen and felt my tears. You asked me about the free fight night and wondered if I was scared being at the first row and so close to the ring.

My morning started with a dry tear and your sweet words. My dry tear whispered to me: “I love him.”

The process of falling in love

The sad truth is that certain types of things can’t go backward. Once they start going forward, no matter what you do, they can’t go back the way they were. If even one little thing goes awry, then that’s how it will stay forever.” (South of the Border , West of the Sun – Haruki Murakami)

The process of falling in love with him was a possibility. Not necessarily relevant. But when it comes to love, can we ever talk about relevance.

For a while, my process of falling in love was there. I put it in place. All the feelings were ready to be displayed, to be shown, even to be said. I was constructing my feelings for him like a kid trying to build a sandy castle on the beach, on a sunny day with a light breeze, having time in front of him. The castle would have just been unique and beautiful.

I was constructing my feelings for him. These feelings had a strong flavor of something more than a friendship, just sweet enough to remind of me of what love could be at the very beginning. Yet it was just a decent sweet feeling in a blurry zone, standing somewhere in the thin line between friendship and love. I was building it slowly and slowly. And carefully. Like building a tower of cards. Extremely delicate and fragile. At any time the cards could fall down and the tower could collapse. All those days, I was shivering with fear. Fear of doing something wrong. I was not all the time focused. Sometimes I pulled away, my fingers were hesitating. The cards waiting for me, the tower unfinished.

Then suddenly, the process of falling in love with him was something I could not come through with. I kept thinking about that. Why did I stop? Was the sandy castle of the kid destroyed because a too strong rising tide  just swept it away in no time. Or maybe the kid got fed up and wanted to play with something else. Or maybe it was too difficult to continue. I did not know why I suddenly stopped. Maybe it was too challenging to construct a tower with cards, something which could be finally too fragile to keep. Maybe I had no patience, maybe I was not gifted enough for such process.

I had thought about that several times. Then I realized that falling in love with someone might not be a process but it should be something more off-hand and instant. That I don’t have time to think through. Like an evidence. Like winter is cold and summer is warm.

But then I also realized that I wanted to go through this process of falling in love with him so that I could slow down my feelings for him. I was buying myself some time. Because it was evident that I was already falling in love with him. Like an evidence. Like an innocent child. Like a sweet candy bar.

The process of falling in love with him was superfluous. Because the feelings were already there. Certainly between friendship and love. And certainly more than just friendship and more than just love. That was why I was hesitating the whole time. The tower of cards would never be accomplished and the sandy castle probably would be just sand. At some point.

I have a secret love

“I’m free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, but I can’t really understand what it means. All I know is I’m totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, like some solitary explorer who’s lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I don’t know, and I give up thinking about it.” (Kafka on the Shore – Haruki Murakami)

I am not only attracted to your external beauty. There is more about you than your beauty.

I always have a secret love for adventurers – the real ones. But rare are people who could be a real adventurer with no attach, no fear and true beliefs. You have no “clichés”, you are authentic. You have a philosophy of life which is simple yet difficult to live and experience when one is still too scared and materialist. You see life in such a simple way that sometimes I could just not understand. Because I am the one who has a hard time to get rid of books, clothes and stuff. When I talk with you, it seems like that there is only one path to simplicity, happiness and peace in mind. Mostly because you have no fear but only faith in what you truly want. You don’t need to stay in your comfort zone. Or better define your comfort zone is everything and nothing.

I am not only attracted to your external beauty. If I write about your beautiful personality, it seems easy to choose this way to describe you. I don’t like to put words in compliments. But I have to say, this time I could not avoid this process. I just want to write about your beautiful personality with my simple words and thoughts. Apparently you had accomplished something or you had done something to yourself to reach this simplicity in your way of living. And this amazed me.

A few days ago I watched for the second time the movie “Blood Diamond” with Leonardo Di Caprio. I always have a secret love for real adventurers. He was stunning in the movie. And so are you in real-life. The closest to this kind of hero – yes – you are. I cannot explain myself more than that. Some people develop a secret love for lawyers, boxers, artists. I just simply like the adventurers with a free spirit and an independent heart, the one I could never have and tame.

So it is true. I am not only attracted to your external beauty. There is something about you that makes this secret love always secret and unaccomplished.

Perfection was not the other person

“They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle.” (1Q84 – Haruki Murakami)

We sat in the car. We had no destination. In front of us a beautiful lake and the imposing gorgeous mountains. From far it looked like the body of a woman, with curves and breasts formed by the shape of the mountains. He put on the music. We talked and listened to the music. People passed by, looking at us, some smiled to us, some not.

Inactivity fit us well.

It was just so perfect that one thought of mine could ruin everything. So I did not think but instead lived. And because there was nothing to think about. Time flew and so did these moments.

Good beats and vibes from his playlist. In front of us this postcard of a country I discovered this very first time. Such beautiful landscape was a blessing.

Perfection was not the other person. Perfection is peace I carried inside of me. It was delightful to add him in this perfection though.

We did not hold hands. I did give him a kiss on the cheek once.

Then we got hungry after two hours and decided to go somewhere for dinner. We drove with no destination. We had great music. Maybe by then I did touch his hand from time to time. I did not remember.

It was not a miracle. It was simple pleasure. We might be perfect for each other or we might not be. We did not find each other. Or maybe we did. I don’t know what it was. The moment was exquisite. Let it be this way. I did not think but instead lived. And so did he. I think.

Time and what we believe

“I believe you,” she whispers after a moment. “Please find my mind.” (Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World – Haruki Murakami)

You don’t believe in the notion of time

Time is now

Time is the moment you seize and live

I seize the moment and live it with you

You don’t look back

You don’t look forward

I walk with you in no past and no future

You don’t believe that time exists

You believe we had invented time

To keep us prisoners inside

I believe that you exist

I believe nobody had invented you

Better than time and beyond time

You just exist

You talk about time

I talk about you

Time is now

Time is you

Makes sense to what you believe

And to what I believe

Hold the kiss

“The most attractive are not those who allow us to kiss them at once [we soon feel ungrateful] or those who never allow us to kiss them [we soon forget them], but those who coyly lead us between the two extremes.” (On love – Alain de Botton)

You two met through friends. The first time you were with ten people and him. Your connection was instant. You both forgot the outside world and started to talk to each other. It was not seduction. It was more like an exploration of a new person who might become your friend because you were so quickly connected. He was smart. Fun and charming. You set aside from the group. You took a walk with him to another area of the bar. He held your hand through the walk. It was natural. Still not a game of seduction. He smiled at your eyes. He smiled at your smile. Your friends joined you. He still held your hand. Your friends looked at you. Surprised. He did not care. He still held your hand and even pulled you a little bit closer to him to make room for your friends. He was confident in his gestures. It was awesome and beautifully under control. When time came to the moment to say goodbye, he left without asking for your phone number. You were quite surprised but not disappointed. He was too elegant for you to be disappointed. You said to yourself: “Sure I will see him again.”

And you saw him again six weeks after the first time. This time you were with seven people and him. He came and sat very close to you on the grass. Again all natural. Your thighs touched. He put his hand under your thighs. He said it warmed him up a little bit. It started to get dark and chilly. He walked home with you. He pulled his bike beside you. When you arrived at your bus stop, he held you in his arms, just like that. You stayed in his arms. Quiet and peaceful. Six minutes at least, the period of time for the next bus to come. It was indeed a bit chilly at midnight. He said: “You should call me, you know?” You did not have his number and you did not ask for it. You two will meet again you were sure. With or without his number. You became as confident as he was. He kissed you in the neck and let you enter the bus. He was the only man who could touch a woman without having to ask, without a second of hesitation. No surprise effect because it was so natural. His charm and his confidence were more than enough. You liked it. You liked the familiar feeling of floating when being with him. Nothing more than that. Nothing vertiginous. It is a very simple feeling. Unusual for you.

You saw him again the third time. This time you were with a friend and him. Dinner at your place. He became your friend. You still had a lot to discover about him. You promised yourself to explore more of his personality. His charm, his confidence and his smile stayed intact. But this time you discovered some more aspects of him: attentiveness and politeness and his very gentleman manners during the evening. You were sure you will see him again. You had his self-confidence now.

The forth time you were alone with him. He smiled in your eyes like the first time. He talked and slightly touched your knee. More than once. The kiss was still superfluous. The kiss will be for another time. You did not wait for it either. You were confident and now you were patient. You don’t need a kiss for a start. You don’t need a start. You think you just need an enduring nice and indecent proximity. And that he had given you already since the first minute he met you. And more than that, you just liked the very simple feeling of well-being while with him.

My last post on him

I said goodbye to her and left. This was our final farewell. I knew it, and so did she. The last time I saw her, she was standing in the doorway, arms folded. She seemed about to say something, but didn’t. She didn’t have to say it out loud—I knew what she was going to say. I felt so empty. (Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman – Haruki Murakami)

We started our story a year ago on the day of the Street parade in our city. I left my friends in the middle of the frenetic fiesta and loud techno music to join him. The streets were full of people disguised with colorful and delirious costumes. I was excited to join him. We started our story right after that evening.

Today we met to say goodbye. Yesterday was the Street Parade, exactly one year after. The next day of the Street Parade is usually calm. People seem to rest from the crazy night. Here and there, the rest of the party, empty bottles, empty glasses on the streets. The city is quiet again.

We were lovers who had given to each other all we could. He had his own way to be with me. In selfishness and freedom. I got trapped in my love for him, stronger and stronger day after day. I was warned. I had always known he was not the kind of man who would settle down for me. Simply because he did not know how to love and even simpler he did not love me. I was warned but was still wanting to love him. I probably loved obstacles and challenges. My love was still true though.

I considered this love as a chance, a self-redemption, a way for me to be a woman, an adult, to get back to love and life. I had been with others for so long without having felt anything as special as this until him.

I had loved him for who he is. With his flaws and qualities. I had loved him without asking for anything and especially for nothing else than just the love felt for him.

At the beginning it sounded pathetic maybe but then it turned out to be all beauty and greatness. Pain never mattered to me that much. But one day I decided to become an adult and to want more from this relationship. He could not offer me anything else. First he did not believe in my love because of my past and my usual indifference and coldness to others. Now maybe he believes me a bit but it does not matter very much. No matter how we analyzed our story it all came down to one evidence: he did not feel anything else. And who knows what he had felt the last year when we kissed, when we laughed, when we embraced each other. But it was none of my business. Not anymore.

I had been proud to love him. Really.

Even if I am suffering now like a bleeding animal, hunted and wounded, I do wish to you all to have felt this kind of love once. Just once. You will see the difference from all the rest. Nothing can be compared to that feeling. But be prepared to be strong.

I had written 140 posts, more than 100 posts are about him, on him and dedicated to him. But this will be my last post on him. This love will now be locked up somewhere very far from me. This love will be frozen, not dead but frozen. This love should never be analyzed or decorticated again. It was accepted, cherished, grown and lived. He was the love of my life. But I read once somewhere “letting go means to come to the realization that some people are part of your history, but not a part of your destiny”.

Yesterday we kissed goodbye like adolescents saying goodbye after a flirt during summer vacations. It was tender, passionate and romantic but I was not an adolescent anymore. I would have loved that high and intense feeling a few months ago, when I was still immature.

I whispered into his left ear “I love you” and put my hand on his right ear so that the sound of these three words could stay there forever. It was symbolic and it was my last word to him. I omitted on purpose the word “forever”. Because it will not be true.

He said that the most important thing was that we had gotten along so well. And we will stay friends for the rest of our lives.

This will be my last post on him. Because all had been said about him. I felt so empty.