It's been so long and yet I still think of you a lot. Too often actually, because then my heart
squeezes together a little bit each time. It's a kind of nostalgia for the time when I was drunk with love, drunk with you. I was confused and wandering, but I longed to be with you again and again. Those few frugal hours that I could steal from your daily life were like a drug addict's fix.
Sometimes I write messages to your Messenger. You never read them because apparently you never go there. That's okay, I just want to get my words out so they don't keep spinning in my head.
I still remember the night I wept without end and asked God to send me someone. To love and to be loved. To touch and be touched. To talk to and get an answer. I never talk to God and afterwards felt strange that I dared to ask so much for myself without giving anything in return. Why would he listen to me? The stray child who had not needed him during all of her life. The sun, moon and stars lit my path, and I could blame it on the wrong constellation if things go wrong. That is more tangible than the vague existence of a God. Of any religion.
Even after a long night of tears, the sun rises again and life asks to be lived. Pleasant or not, the clock is ticking and then tears disappear into the background again.
Picture this. A summer evening in a disco. Unfortunately that didn't happen often. Dancing gives me a lot of energy. With dancing I can clear my head and forget everything for a while. And I forgot.
And there you were. Our eyes met and you smiled at me. I don't even remember if I returned that smile because I was immediately in love. Something must have made you feel welcome, because you came right up to me and we had a chat. All evening we danced, our bodies moving in perfect harmony to the music. Which music? No idea! With my head on your shoulder, my mind was already drifting to the next step. A date, an afternoon in bed, roses and moonlight? That evening was the pure happiness I never had tasted before.
I got your phone number and I patiently waited a few days to call, I really didn't want to seem too eager. We made an appointment to have lunch the following week at a beach bar nearby. After that first call, you called me every day. Then I heard you sing softly. I just called to say I love you and I mean it from the bottom of my heart. And my heart was racing, the words got stuck in my mouth. I wanted so badly, so badly for it to be true. It was by far the happiest week of my life and it was actually way too short. A week full of expectations and dreams of what was to come.
It was not until the day of our lunch that I returned to Earth. My first question was: are you married? And of course you were. With a woman and a business. The first gave him complete freedom, the second one not. The business was a greedy lover who consumed almost all of your time. From 3 pm to midnight, every weekend and every holiday, you served that loved one with admirable devotion. During our scarce hours together, telephone reservations were taken. At lunch, on the beach, in the car. Not in bed. As if normal, we slid into a certain rhythm, adapted to your life. That was not even your wish, but some kind of necessity that you had to fulfil. Almost against your own needs, it was strictly enforced.
Meet up around 10am, even if it got very late the night before. A few hours in bed together with that harmony that completely controlled our bodies. Have lunch together at the most delightful spots along the coast. A drive with our hair in the wind or just to the beach for a swim.
In this way we slipped effortlessly into this rhythm. Also the days were without you, the nights without you, the weekends and the holidays without you. My life consisted of waiting for the next appointment. Phone in hand and next to my bed because you called to sing to me that he loved me. And I believed you. During these conversations, usually at night, we imagined where we would go in a minute. So, we both lived an extra life that we could share.
There was a snow white beach and an eternally azure blue sea where we walked hand in hand in the surf until we got too tired to continue. During one of those wanderings we discovered the ruins of a Roman temple. Dilapidated but stately, it showed off his beauty. Fallen columns lay criss-cross in the sand. The marble stairs reached down to the water and were touched time and again by the unperturbed sea. And so we also touched each other, took possession of the ruin and became the gods of our own religion. Love.
There was another beach, one with a full moon. You brought a basket with tasty snacks and champagne. I brought towels and a blanket. We ate and drank, laughed and talked until the inevitable moment when we started to love each other. Passion, champagne and moonlight are a delicious love potion that heals soul and body. Like mad children we ran into the sea to play. When we finished playing, we dried each other off and fell asleep under the blanket.
Actually, we fell asleep with the phone in hand because no one wanted to be the first to disconnect. And so, another day came, a day in which we would not see each other again.
Sometimes I came to have dinner in the restaurant, together with a friend or with my children. That was always a fiest . Delicious food that you served yourself. After dessert you sat down with us and we talked for a long time. I enjoyed it, felt seen and was part of your daily life for a while. You never made a secret of our relationship and that felt really good to me.
The days grew into two years and you wanted to keep going until we were 80, it was so nice. But! But I was lonely, too many hours without you started to get painful. You felt that pain too, but it was different. You wanted so badly to give me more. More time, more attention, a different life. It gnawed at your heart and it was literally hurting. My grief grew and caused rough waves on our beach. The columns and marble stairs crumbled further and the full moon hid behind the clouds. In the dark I couldn't see you anymore and I sent you away. Away to your eternally demanding lover. I still feel the pain of that moment.
Go and read your messages...
Picture by Paul Garaizar
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