You held my hands…

I have been unable to write after this concert with you.

You love the sound of guitar so I chose this concert for you. It was in the Catedral of our city. Saturday night.

You held my hands during the whole concert. When this piece of Piazzolla was played, my hands were in yours. The music of Piazzolla is one of my favorites. I have always loved tango music. It makes me feel melancholic. Sometimes even sad. I have never wished to listen to Piazzolla and my favorite piece “Milonga del Angel” with you by my side. I wanted to post on my blog right after the concert to describe how I felt. Then I could not so I just kept it to myself.

I wish everyone in this world could have the same moment. The Catedral was magical that evening. You touched my hands right after the first piece. And you did not let them go. During the break, you kissed me lightly on my right cheek, then on my hair and my forehead. I posed my head on your left shoulder. You kissed my hands. The two hands. Indifferently, left then right.

You kept my hands after the break. Now they played Bach. The same magic. Or even more. You moved closer to me. Even.

You held my hands that night, the whole night. You did not let me go. We could sleep in a single bed and still had enough space.

I fell asleep in your arms. My hands in yours. I could still hear Piazzolla and Bach. And also your breathe.

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Birthday’s preparation

“Nobody understands me, except you.”

You wrote me this at 7am this morning. I grabbed my phone at 9am, my eyes half closed and that was the first message of my day. “I totally understand you. And yes, only me”. You said hi to me and you sent me the first song of Charles X “Distracted”. I listened to it and selected another song for you. You commented on it. I commented it back. We chatted for one hour.

Suddenly I felt like saying something more explicit, something like “I miss you”, “I would love to have you in my arms”, or even “I miss your naked body”. We almost never exchanged kinky messages, or very rarely. Most of the time I do not feel especially the need to do it either. I remember you told me once that it was useless to send messages like this when we are apart. Either we can be together and then we do not need these messages, you don’t see the point of sending these messages and get all aroused for nothing. I understand you. Somehow we send the songs and the lyrics mean something to us. The title of the song as well. We carefully choose the songs that we know the other would like. Your style. My style. The lyrics.

Then around noon I received a mail from a friend in Boston. He said that my package arrived yesterday evening. My package is actually your package. Inside the package there are 50 Chinese cookies fortune with 12 personalized messages for your birthday in April. I ordered it from the US and the company did not deliver it in Europe so I asked my friend in Boston to receive it for me and then he will send to me by tomorrow. One of the messages was: “Nobody understands you, except me”. I usually start to think about your birthday present around January. It is always a big deal for me even though you always say that you do not care, it will be just like another normal day. But I always prepared something. The other day you told me that you love the sound of guitar and guitar is the instrument you like most. Then I started to think that I could learn how to play guitar now so that I can play something for you and record it for the next birthday. Yes, it could be a good idea.

My day was nothing exceptional as I still have a lot of back pain so in spite of the beautiful weather I stayed mostly inside and read and thought of you. You wrote to me almost every hour. You had to prepare for the next fight and coach two free fighters. In two days we will be together for a few days. You told me that you will take all the music I like for the trip and we do not need to write to each other that much as we will be completely together.

I don’t need to say out loud “I love you” or “I miss you”. You know it. Every second of your day, your life, you know it. That was why at 7am in the morning you wrote to me, simply “Nobody understands me, except you.”

 

I hope she dreams of him too…

An old friend came to visit me yesterday. A sunny afternoon welcome her. We sat outside, enjoying the sun the whole afternoon, starving for the sun after a very long and tough winter, talking about the old days when they used to share an office. I talked about my love. About the old days when we used to work the three of us together. My friend, my love and me on the same project, sharing our days. Everyday for two years long. I had my eyes wide open, sparkling under the sun, when I talked about him. My energy was overflowing. My enthusiasm was bursting. I mentioned his name in drunkenness. Without any alcohol drink. My excitement was free. The sun posed its warmth on my skin. A feeling of a feather. No more no less. I absorbed the sun and sent it back into words. Words of love. My friend looked at me. She said she had never seen me like that. I repeated again and again. A thousand of times. He is the best. He is great. I love him. No matter how. No matter what. My friend ordered a third glass of wine. She drank for me. For both of us. In my limitless love. In my unconditional love. She wished me the best. And said cheers to me. She said that he was different. He was like nobody else. And probably that was why I fell deeply in love with him. More sun caressed my face. I closed my eyes one second. Enough time to see him there. Moments like that I understood the deep meaning of love and eternity. One second of silence between me and the sun and him. The world was in order. I was untouchable. Unbreakable. Invincible.

My friend said that she would probably dream of him at night too. Because I talked so much about him. For me dreaming of him was sure thing. No night is different from the others. Every night I dream of him. No matter how I had spent my day. At two in the morning, his mail arrived. I saw it and jumped like a kid on the couch. I shouted out of happiness. My friend laughed out loud. I was still jumping on the couch. And shouted: I love him. Don’t you see it.

I said good night to my friend, went to bed. Listened to his song. My favorite one ever. A whiter shade of pale of Procol Harum. I closed my eyes. Slowly. “Would you dance with me on this song, my love?”. That was my last thought. No, the last thought was actually: “I hope she dreams of him too. He is the best. She will have the best dream ever.”

PS: this is one of my favorite moments in life – when the sun is shining that much, I am with my coffee, writing a post about him, looking outside – my street is still quiet.

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Morning scream in music

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A midnight blue, day and night
I’ve been missing you
I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
Almost makes me crazy
Come and live with me

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near
I wrote you a letter, I tried to make it clear
That you just don’t believe that I’m sincere
I’ve been thinking about you, baby

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near

I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
I want you to live with me

This morning I woke up. Definitely calmer than yesterday. Or at least it was the first impression. As soon as my eyes got the first light of the day from a tiny slit of the shutter, an acute pain squeezed my chest but short, quick pain. I projected myself to the future. Something I have never done for months now. Thinking of the future. The thought of the future. Future that meant to be in five week time. When he will be leaving again. His date of departure has not yet been set. But its certainty is undeniable.

I put on this song of Massive Attack. I just discovered it a few days ago. The song penetrated my skin, soaked into my bones. I felt cold. The voice was groaning and moved me deep. Maybe it was circumstantial but each word was cutting me into pieces. “A midnight blue, day and night I’ve been missing you I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby Almost makes me crazy Come and live with me Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near I want you to live with me “.  I could groan in a same hoarse voice mixed with sobs and tears and nobody could distinguish the sadness of the song or that of my soul.

I felt another round of punches. I squeezed tight my pillow, put it over my stomach and wrapped myself, smothered under the blanket. Acute pain, longer, more insistent. He will go away soon. I stayed in the fetus position, my way to protect myself from suffering. For a long while. I could hear the ticking sound of the alarm clock. Like a count-down. Each ticking seemed to count the days left before he is gone again. Each regular ticking sound mixed with the deep regular moaning sound of the song in perfect harmony, sentencing the end of my happiness. For a short while, I had the feeling that I had flirted with a slow death. The feeling of losing him again. Seeing him going away. Again. Seeing him going in another direction, in another part of the world. In this big world we had crossed paths for a second. Just for a second. I heard myself screaming. I screamed the unfairness of life. Of love. Of everything.

The scream lasted with the last note of the song. I disappeared in my large bed. No more sound suddenly. The room fell into silence. But I could still hear my love for him.

What would make me happy a day like this ?

What would make me happy a day like today?

It is so dark outside and the snow is falling again. This winter is terrifying. I had a bad lunch that hurt my stomach for hours. I had a lesson of harpsichord, my fingers were stiff. The piece was all about the beginning of the romantic era and I could not play it with stormy feelings. My teacher told me that I was cold today. Truth is I was a bit lack of sleep, lack of vitamines, lack of sun. Monday is always tough. And a German class is waiting for me this evening. Nothing really fancy today, really.

What would make me happy a day like today ?

I would love to run on the beach, feeling sand in between my toes. I would love to feel sun on my face. I would love to have a good vietnamese soup prepared by my grandmother. I would love to sing tonight in a karaoke bar, maybe just to spend my energy, move my voice. I don’t know.

What would make me happy right now?

I would love to be hold in his arms and hear his laugh, listen to his music, watch Youtube endlessly with him and laugh on silly things.

I want sun, I want beach, I want vietnamese food but most of all I want him. Nothing has much changed since the last 24 hours.

He is the sun, he is the beach, he is the vietnamese food, he is the song I want to sing. He is the piece of Bach I want to play. He is the stormy feeling I want to express. He is all the Mondays I will like if he were here.

Laurence anyways

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Sunday evening – The last few days I thought that spring has finally shown up – I went to see a movie of the young Canadian director Xavier Dolan – “Laurence anyways”. Laurence is a high school teacher in Montreal, he writes poems, loves his girlfriend Fred and has a secret. Laurence feels like a man trapped in a woman’s body and the day he decides to share his deep secret to Fred, their exceptional love falls apart as Fred cannot stand the idea of seeing Laurence in a dress and with high heels. The movie is powerful in showing these struggling lovers, even though loving each other terribly, still cannot save their love. Laurence could not make Fred understand that his desire of being a woman has nothing to do with his love for Fred. Fred leaves Laurence, gets married, has a child. The movie is masterly directed. The soundtrack with music of the 90s gives goosebumps. Laurence never forgets Fred. He comes back to her twice but in vain. In the end he is beautiful as a woman but the expression of his face shows so much of suffering of the lost love.

It was unbearable to watch.

I got out of the movie theatre. I was with his mother. Spring was illusion. It started to snow again. It was cold once again. We said goodbye in the bus. I got out at another stop. We did not talk a lot in the bus. The movie was still in us. I believe.

I think of him.

I think of the love for him. On the bus.

I love his forehead. I love his eyebrows. I love each of his eyelashes. I love his left ear, his right ear. Swollen because of the fights. I love his chin, his lips, his twice-broken nose, his three-day beard with some grey parts. I love his arms, his forearms, his elbows, his tattoos. I love his hands, his fingers, dry because of the winter. I love his scars. I love each detail of him.

I love him like Laurence loves Fred in the movie. Like everything.

But exceptional love can be lost. As in the movie.

And as yesterday was spring and tonight is snow.

So I love him in no illusion.

An exceptional love in no illusion. tumblr_mby9mvnD4a1qi6bpc

I am the worst strategist in dating

Good morning my friends, followers and bloggers,

I am with Norah Jones “I’ve got to see you again” and my first coffee. I am happy to say “good morning” to you. I have something to share.

I am the worst strategist in dating. But oh hell the best “LOVER” – lover as the one who knows how to love. How to love, yes, just that. I am happy, so happy that I have to share with you this morning.

HE is back. He is everything. He is abstract, he is concrete. He is everything I cannot have. He is everything of my dream. He is everything that I don’t want. He is everything that I don’t need. He is the universe, inside my head, inside my heart. Well, you get it. HE IS EVERYTHING. And yes, you get it too. HE IS BACK.

He announced to me that he is here. Let’s forget my sleepless nights since that moment. The idea he is in the same city after all that time. Science fiction for me. Walking on the moon is easier to imagine. Becoming President of the United States is easier to imagine. I don’t even know how I’d survived the last three days.

He is here. How do I do? For months I have heard: “He is so sure about you. He is so sure that you have been waiting. He is so sure that you love him.”. Then now I hear: “If you ask him to see you, he will answer to what you suggest and never need to suggest anything.”. To that, here are my answers. “I love him and if he knows about that and is still there, that means that is ok for both of us”. “Why should I play hard to get? He already GOT me, mind and soul, heart and body”. “I have no game to play, nothing to hide.”

However I just wonder how I could ask him to see me, after all these months absent from home. I guess he is pretty busy. I always know that the “US” is fun, trust, confidence and FRIENDSHIP above all, above love. I feel ME when I am with him. And I don’t see myself being in silence because he said he is home and I will stay in silence, waiting for him to suggest a meeting. And all of this considering I will be away for work the whole month of March.

I wanted to say something in the spirit of the “US”, cool fun and trust. I wanted to welcome him home with my style. I wanted him to know that I care, that I am happy he is home. My last email to him before he landed was all about my work and advices I needed from him, with an ending “with kind regards” as a joke (because mostly I spent time at work writing formal letters to the government and agencies). When he announced to me he was back home, he asked me about the “kind regards” greetings which, he thought, were a bit formal.

As we used to work in the past on questionnaires, surveys, we have joked quite a lot about how we designed and formulated questions. Yesterday I decided to welcome him home with a survey.

1) do you have jet lag? yes – no

2) are you tanned? yes- no

3) are you still handsome ? yes – no

4) you said you are too cold because it’s freezing outside, what would you do to get warmer?

– i would put on warmer clothes

– i would put the heating on maximum level

– i would come to see L. (L = me) to get warmth in her arms

– i would do nothing to change the situation

5) you have learned that L. will be away for 3 weeks, what would you do?

– i would see her this weekend if i am not too busy

– i would see her next week, easy easy !

– i would see her in april, easy easy !

– i would do nothing

– i have headache already !

That was it, the questionnaire, then I ended it with: “Welcome back mi amor !!! (is this still too formal for you ???)

It was me, the questionnaire was me….This is my style…I cannot hide, I don’t want to hide my feelings, I have nothing to hide.

He answered me right away with smileys and smileys and asked for the dates of my trips.

I informed him all the dates, when I am busy and when I am available, stating that my priority is still him.

He asked me to see him tomorrow.

That was the story of me being the worst strategist in dating, in love.

I only know how to be true, to be sincere. When I have something to say, I say it. I don’t try to make myself unavailable, I don’t hide my schedule to be interesting. I am just ME in front of HIM, in spite of all the “you are not a challenge for him, and it’s so easy.”

Who cares anyway if I am not a challenge to the man I love. Because I am not. Why do I need to be a difficult woman to him.

I think I just want to be sincere and generous when I love.

But ok, it makes me the worst strategist in dating. I don’t know how to wait. I don’t know how to play games. I am no good in giving advices in dating, because I am really bad with strategies.

Well, now I have to leave you here. Tomorrow I still need to be beautiful 😉

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How special should the Chinese New Year be?

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“When you fall in love, the natural thing to do is give yourself to it.” (Norwegian Wood – Haruki Murakami)

Tomorrow is Chinese/Vietnamese New Year.

Somehow it is just another day.

But I still feel special about it.

I will find my own way to celebrate it.

How many songs will I send to you?

How many mails will I write to you?

I feel like fireworks inside of me

It is a bit special

Then it is not

My love is in constant force

However I am seething of excitement

What special songs will I send to you?

Which different words will I write to me?

It’s New Year my lovely

You will have a new me

Offering you a new love

Stronger than the old one

Finally tomorrow is a special day

Fireworks of love

Burning me from inside

I have known true love

307192_10151348321998838_1364223047_nYou don’t need to suffer to love.

You don’t need to torture yourself in love.

You don’t need to be unhappy in love.

Sometimes I am ashamed to say so.

I can’t find any ounce of sadness or negative feelings in my love. Not once.

Even if I look deep and hard into my soul, body, heart, I can’t find anything sad. Not even nostalgia or melancholy.

Even if the music I am listening could touch my spleen like a sharp cut, I can’t feel no pain.

Even if the grey days of the long winter are waiting for me, and the rain keeps on pouring incessantly. Even if memories have their power and I love thinking of him, decorating our past with poetic and sweet images. I can’t find anything sad. I can’t find one thing which could make me unhappy. I can’t find one thing I would need or expect from him. I don’t ask. I don’t demand. I don’t require. I don’t analyze. I don’t guess.

If I have only one thing to say today, I would say:

“I have known true love”frida2

The ears

“…Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you… So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones… That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine… (Haruki Murakami)

Define being high – have you ever been high without drugs?

Define being in love – that feeling, the closest to getting high, without drugs.

You are on the clouds, suffering is not in your vocabulary, you fly, you float, you are light, you lose focus, you are not weak; you get stronger.

In love and high.

I was lack of sleep for months. His mails usually arrived around 5am in the morning; my brain and body were programmed to open my eyes at 4.59 am, then I could never fall asleep again. I started to get high at 5 am.

I was supposed to see him again sometime in the middle of the year, in June. I stopped counting the days that separated us. Days, months, time passed by so quickly for me and anybody else, except the time within us – him and me. Weekdays were long, weekends were long, nights a nightmare, days full of casual things with other people which made me move and laugh. One morning in early May, his mail arrived at 5am with a bomb effect. He announced his early return due to some emergency. I acknowledged the news at 5.01 am and felt for the first time, since our time apart, a great pain on my chest. It was because the timing could not be any worse. Two days after his return, I needed to get out of the country for some emergency on my side. The whole time he was back in the country, I was outside the country. Fate, destiny, call it whatever name you like. It hit me like a storm. The storm is in me, outside of me, everywhere.

Reacting when you are high is never a good idea. You hardly know what is right, what is wrong. You try to be rational, you try to get some sleep again; and mostly you try to act adult. My head was a mess. The inside of it that morning was like all the wires hidden behind a thousand of computers or actually it was exactly like all the wires that I have tried to hide for months behind my huge TV and the super sophisticate surround home movie (a buy recommended by a geek friend). Even worse. I was in my bed when his mail arrived. Development of some worrisome scenarios. I calculated his possible time on the plane, his trip, when he landed, when I got myself on the plane, when I took off and how two people with such unfortunate destiny could somehow meet each other in a real cloud (yes, not the one in my head when I am high). It became difficult. Think of a bomb with a ticking clock, programmed to be exploded one minute to another, and the yellow, blue, red wires impossible to be unraveled. Imagine a situation where only a Jack Bauer could do something about it; and that was me that morning with no Jack Bauer.

I knew he could only arrive with one flight connection at 5pm the next afternoon. Being in a very no-man’s  land of a relationship where we are friends, or free lovers, or lovers living apart (again my relationship could not fit any normal definition – the only thing which was clear for me from the beginning was that my heart was in command, and my rationality has surrendered long time ago and I was always high when it came to anything related to him), the issue with the “no-definition” and the “no name” relationship with a man who has made you high for almost 200 days on the row, was that, in that particular situation, you would never know if you could show up at the airport just to say hi. Definitely a “no-no” or a “yes-yes” or a “what the hell, I will do it anyway”.

After the breaking news, I went to work, acted normal but could not concentrate. I had one chance to see him before my trip: at the airport. Going to the airport could make me a real stalker, a crazy chick, an immature lady. In public, in daylight, forever, in front of him. Yes, because I don’t care being a stalker, a crazy nuts chick as long as it is in my apartment, in front of my bathroom mirror; I can handle a huge amount of ridiculous in my head, virtually, with words but not out loud, in actions and in front of people, and most of all, at the airport.

During the whole afternoon, I cogitated. The clock on the bomb was still ticking. To be at the airport at 5pm I was supposed to leave my office at 4.30pm, the latest. At 3pm I was still in the dark. I would use some daisies and tear off its petals to play the: “I am going to the airport”, “I am not going to the airport”, “I am not going and I will regret”, “I am going and I will feel remorse”. Tic, tac, tic, tac, 3.30 pm. My hair was dirty, I had no nice make-up (it was a rainy day and normal day of work), I had my ugly old cowboy boots and that was the day that was supposed to meet him after ten weeks apart. I looked tired, ugly but still high. That’s the funniest thing of being in love. Love gives wings and lightness even in the heaviest dilemma. But I had to admit, at some point I did feel a bit dizzy that afternoon. Suddenly, no more imaginary daisies to tear off, I jumped out of my office chair, and headed to the airport without turning off my computer.

Two possibilities of arrivals of his flight: one on the Arrival 1, one on the Arrival 2. Some more imaginary daisies please! I opted for Arrival 1. Once in front of the arrival gate and seeing people getting out, kissing each other, I wanted to flee. Why was I here? Not possible. Wrong choice. Wrong number of daisy petals. What did I do? Why did I decide to go to the airport?? I looked at the people who were waiting. I said to myself, if someone among his friends or relatives was there, I would run off. I could not be there, my place was not there. But I did not know how they looked like. So again, I just stared at them and remembered what he used to tell me: “all of my friends are Turkish or Albanese or Serbian”. So I stared at one man, speculating that he was Turkish and speculating again he was his friend and then again I said to myself: “damn, he is his friend, am sure, I have to back off”. Hardly, I finished this sentence in my head, here he was. And of course, someone was there to pick him up. Not a Turkish young man, but an old Italian man. How could I figure that out just from staring at the people waiting at the gate?? Too late, I said hi. He was surprised I guess, and until now, I still hope it was a good surprise for him.

From the city to the airport, my heart was squeezed a few times. Waiting at the airport, the breathing became a little bit irregular and when he was there in front of me, the breathing stopped for a few seconds. He was nice, easygoing, cool as usual and tanned, more than usual. He was gorgeous and he was HIM, and that was enough. Writing any sentence from now starting with “he is” is not the aim of this short paper. He was there and I was breathless and voiceless. I probably looked stupid. I felt like a child, an adult, an old person, at the same time, all in one. He has the power of God, how could it be? In front of him, I am everything, young, old, ugly, beautiful, smart, stupid, anything.

The following hours were clear and blurred. I kept every minute of this meeting for myself. I had the feeling that if I put it down in words I would be able to remember it for a long time. But then suddenly I felt that silence would make it mine forever.

The “erotic density” of the Greek restaurant where we stopped by to have a coffee was more than “thick”, at least for me.

If I were a moviemaker I would film that unique scene: he showed me his scars and his swollen ears from some MMA combats and I touched them, gently and shyly with my fingers. If I were a poet, I would use all the words in the dictionary to describe this feeling. If I were a photograph, I would congeal and immortalize this image in one shot. That moment was the most erotic moment in any human history of sexuality.

We said goodbye after a few coffees. I went away for my trip. I was high for several days during my trip. He was my storm. He left the day I got back home after my trip.

Today, I still wake up at 4.59am in the morning. My fingers can still feel the soft skin of his ears. And the table in the restaurant putting a distance between our two bodies has a touch of foam. He was so close to me, it was just a distance of a table made of foam.