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.

Remember as much as you can

Funny isn’t it? I can get almost anything I want. Except the one thing I want the most. (Dance Dance Dance – Haruki Murakami)

I am in his flat.

In the corridor, a white and narrow bookshelf, a lot of books from the French authors.

First room on the left: His desk and a Mac computer. An old armchair for the desk. He needs to change it because his back hurts sitting on it. Again bookshelves with books, DVDs, CDs, video tapes of his next film’s casting, a table in the middle with no chairs. The light comes from outside from a small window. We are on the top floor of an old building. From the window I see some small gardens down there, a store painted in pink, some small houses. Quiet suburb. Small street with no traffic.

The next room on the right: his bed, grey sheet, a small red wardrobe, another grey one. Music, books, some more, I can’t remember the names of all these contemporary French writers. He puts a CD of a Chinese pop band, only instrumental. He puts another CD of Keith Jarrett. Same view from the window.

The kitchen: a small one. The stove just arrived last week. The table is red with white dots. Two white chairs. A set of four green dishes and bowls. A set of three wine glasses. A bottle of French champagne.

The bathroom: white and simple, he puts the usual stuff. His perfume whose name I can’t remember but the smell I can still remember. He never turns on the light because of the noise it makes when the light is on. The heater has a problem. The water becomes very hot. We pay attention to not get burned.

I am 303 miles away. I close my eyes. I am in his flat. I wander between the rooms, looking at the books. I am there. Barefoot on the floor. My bag and small suitcase on the floor. The music is still there. He is somewhere in the other room. Maybe he is preparing a light dinner.

I close my eyes. I am 487.53 km away.

I live with my imagination. It works. I rewind my feelings.

I am still 72 hours late on the present time. I can change my feelings but not the time and space. Alas.