Mood after Italy

You let him come to Italy. Live dangerously, you call it. Live cautiously is not to let him come. Majestic him. Whom you know you cannot resist.
The experience was vertiginous. When you live the ups you have to be ready for the downs. Who wants rain must expect the muds. You were ready. Or at least you think you are ready. Ready for the downs, the moment you kiss goodbye at the station. When you only want romance, that is what you get. The slow and irregular heartbeats when he walks away. You take the last train. Outside the night is falling. The rain drops stick on the window and slowly disapear, just like the memories of your day spent with him.
The next day you get these symptoms of those who are in love. Are you too? The question is irrelevant. You should have things under control. Vulnerability is not part of your vocabulary.
The next day the symptoms are acute. You think of him the moment you open your eyes in the morning. His smile. His strong arms. His blue eyes when he looks at you. You hardly eat. You live out of memories. Your heart feels weak. Your brain functions half of its capacity.
You embrace the symptoms. If truly you are in love, then it is a gift. But you doubt the symptoms will last. You hope somehow they will last. For once, you let your guard down.
You think love is a decision. Rationality. There is nothing more powerful than your brain. How long are you going to let him stay in your heart. Some will say that it is not love if you can control.
The second day you still feel dizzy but the memories of his smiling eyes fade away already a little bit. But the feeling of him is still very present. Now you are tipsy when you think of him. And it is nothing in comparison to the moment you went to the bar to meet him in Italy, that moment you feel like you have swallowed a bottle of wine all by yourself.
You dont know how to fall in love and how to be with someone. You only feel. Your five senses tell you what love is. Love is science fiction. Love is alien for you. Yet the symptoms of love are earthy for you. Even in the landing you can feel them.

The lover of the Hotel Strauss

Should I have slept with her? That’s the central question of this piece. The answer is beyond me. Even now, I have no idea. There are lots of things we never understand, no matter how many years we put on, no matter how much experience we accumulate. All I can do is look up from the train at the windows in the buildings that might be hers. Every one of them could be her window, it sometimes seems to me, and at other times I think that none of them could be hers. There are simply too many of them.(A Window- Haruki Murakami)

I arrived in this small town around 9 in the evening. You were supposed to arrive by car a bit later than me. The streets were empty already. The train station was ugly. The outside of the station was ugly. I said to myself: “What the hell am I doing here?”. I accepted to join you in the middle of nowhere, just to let our story begin somehow. I was not scared. A bit excited though. Not more than that. You told me you were afraid. You have not felt this way for a long time. The unknown scared you more than me. I did not know why you were scared. We had already met. We liked each other. And we had said that to each other already.

I walked to the hotel. The hotel name was Hotel Strauss whose website was much better than reality. Again in the middle of nowhere. At the corner of two ugly and empty streets. I checked in. People in the restaurant were loud. I ordered a glass of wine and waited for you. You were supposed to arrive very soon. You texted me almost from each traffic light. Your driver was extremely fast apparently.

A man next to my table asked if he could join me for dinner. I said I was sorry but I was waiting for my boyfriend. Easy and simple. I thought of you as my boyfriend. I was surprised that my answer was that spontaneous. People talked loudly around me. A language I could not understand.

Then you arrived. Exactly like I used to imagine you. You kissed me for the first time. Right away. Direct. Spontaneous. Natural. Our first kiss was not romantic but beautiful. As if we were together for years. There was a particular emotion to that kiss. Not the one that lovers long for in absence, but the one that lovers are determined to offer to each other the moment they saw each other again.

You got yourself a glass of wine too but you could hardly drink. You held my hands. God, you seemed so touched and moved by our reunion. It almost made me feel uncomfortable. We paid and went to the room.

We made love a minute after we closed the door. But we took off our clothes slowly, delicately. Again we made love like lovers who had known each other for years. Natural. Tender. Slow. Beautiful. Without artifices. We never left the room. There was nothing to see in this town. Only one small main street with shops. We did not care. Outside from the window, I could see the colored, illuminated signal “Hotel Strauss” but in reverse.

You lit your first cigarette. Then a second one. Then a third one. We skipped lunch, dinners and life outside of the hotel Strauss. We made love between questions and answers. You seemed to want to know a lot about my life. You thought I was more familiar with this kind of situation. You never knew that I had never put my life on hold for a 18 hours trip to join someone, let alone staying in bed for days like this. I did not ask you questions. I answered a few of yours. But sure you were special to me.

The small town was ugly. The empty streets were ugly. The hotel Strauss was ugly. You were beautiful. I honored you at that moment and at many more moments we had from that night. From that moment, I called you: “My lover of the hotel Strauss”. You said it suited you that way. You lit another cigarette and made love to me again. I closed my eyes but could still see the illuminated signal flashing from outside, in the same rhythm as my heart.