Sunday aftenoon, in my little house in the Prairie. It has been more than a month to write and when it takes so long, it feels like a little betrayal. A letter for simple every day things, for insignifigant things, for quite, dramaless lives. You left yesterday, you are away to another country, and I can feel the absence, isn’t that strange?
One day I might understand, and then again I might not, or there will be no need for an explanation of why things happen they way they do. All I know is that now, at this moment I am writing this letter, to this man, who was for a little while a little bit of this and a little bit of that and then he wasn’t. This is how stories are created my love, when people come, and then they go.
It is seven in the
afternoon, the aircondition is on and I am sitting on the sofa writing on the
laptop, Moroccan oud music is playing on youtube, you know how I always like my
music at important moments.
You did not say hallo when I came on Friday night, and then you changed seats and went with the others on the top of the stairs of the amphetheatre. I was feelin restless with your attitude, I couldn’t stand not talking to you, I came and sat next to you for a while, and you came closer to my face and gently put your hand behind my back, offered to bring me some water and I felt calmer I returned to my seat on the first row.
The event finished and the music started.
And as I was sitting there a desire awoke inside me, to grab two beers and come
and sit next to you, and there together we would enjoy this lovely music
evening. In my mind, it was a chance to experience one more little thing
together, like all the little things I wanted us to experience and we never
did. It was like, some time we get a
random day, a random event, to sit next to this person, the one you want to
share this with. One night before your departure.
And then I looked up. Another woman had already claimed the
spot next to you, she came first, she brought drinks and cigarettes and sat
really close to you. I lost my chance. I stayed where i was, sat there for a while, sipping on my beer and then I decided to get one more. I
walked to the drinks counter, and turned to you, asked you if you want one, and
came to you. No room for me to sit next to you, there are plastic caps and caps
with cigarettes and she is glued next to you, whispering in your ear, and your
turn your face towards her and you behave so friendly and intimate. I saw my
friend sitting one step lower and I called his name. Come sit here I ask him
and he comes. You know what, me and him
can be friendly and intimate while you are having your little one to one
conversation with your dear friend.
Then, like a sudden
feeling of asphyxiation got into you, you got up and left her side, and sat on
the cement floor, stretched your legs, put a pillow behind your back, and
listened to the music. You are a few centimetres lower than me now, and I can
look at you without disruptions. You turn your head to your right, and slightly
lift and your eyes meet mine and I look at you and your gaze has nostalgia and
pain and questions none of us will ever be able to answer. I know, I know, I
know I ll never be your poem, I ll never be the muse, your lover, your woman,
your wife, your partener. I will be the woman you were interested for her and
then gave up on the idea. I will be your
shortest emotional errection that faded away. This lovestory’s life was shorter
than the life of a working bee.
But , hey, tonight, you turned your head to me and gave me
this gaze, that it was like your soul was having an honest conversation with my
soul, recognizing that we had indeed something special. Not all love stories
have a happy ending but it does not mean they did not have anything. After all
my sweetheart, we are both artists, it would have been unbearable to think or
admit there was nothing.
It s like a prober burial every man deserves regardless if
he was a wonderful human being or an asshole who did nothing good in his life.
He will receive a proper burial, and
prayers from the priest, and prayers from people who will attend his funeral and
maybe some tears and some flowers and purple ribbons. Because once a man dies,
he sins die with him, this is what Cristians believe and you can not feel anger
or hatred for the person who died you can only pray for his soul, for God to
forgive his sins and for him to find peace in afterlife.
This is the same procedure with our love stories my love. We turn sinners into saints, we kill them, we empty their guts and mummify them. We forgive them, we hold on to the good memories and pretend all the shitty things they did they didnt mean. This helps us heal and helps maintain a balanced brain function, our hearts to manage the pain, and our souls to continue it's journey without extra baggage. But i am not there yet, i am in pain, my last hope was shuttered and i feel so much pain.
This gaze my soul, was full of honesty and truth
and devotion, yes, devotion, to the memory of what could have been.
You know or you will experience true love, the kind of deep,
overwhelming feeling of love the kind that floods your heart simultaneously
with pain and joy and all emotions in between. This is when true love is being
born my soul. When all else fails, when you are no longer driven by desire for
the flesh, when you are no longer in need of anything, when you have no
expectations, when you stop asking questions, feeling angry, stopped feeling
pissed off you did not get your way. Love will come and punch you in the
stomach when you realise you are not the same anymore, you don’t know what
exactly has changed, but this denial of earthy pleasures had elevated your soul
one more step higher. And here we are now sitting on these stone steps on a hot
evening of July and be for a few minutes at close proximity.
I left and walked to my car. Before I leave you asked me if
I was ok to drive. I said I was fine, I was not drunk, I only had two beers. I
sat in my car. I looked opposite where you and this woman friend were sitting.
And I looked at you turning towards her and her turning towards you and staying
hugged for a while, it looked like you were kissing. i feel the pain in my
stomach as I write this now, as I am picturing this image in the darkness and
every detail my mind imagined. I feel
the pain yes, but it is not a pain that will kill me, I already know, this
image will be so insignifigant this time next year.
One year from now, none of these will matter, you will be forgotten,
this image will be forgotten, the pain will no longer exist, and this will be
nothing more besides a diary entry of a woman who had a boring summer and tried
to put some taste in it.
i started the eninge of my car but kept the lights off and slowly drove to enter the main road like a murdered snicking out of a murder scene. Wasnt crying, was feeling a mix of dissapointment with disgust, towards me mainly, for being such an idiot. i am always the fucking, persistent idiod. A few minutes bebore i reached home i checked my phone and saw a message
11.41 you want me to come with you
how the fuck was he kissing her and he is asking if i want him to come home with me, or was he not kissing her, or was is my imagination. Why, why , why the fuck do I care, we are not together any more. but darling darling, many say that hope is the last one to die, but thats a lie, the last one to die is possesiveness.
There was a sleepless night and there was a morning conversation between us next morning. he said he didnt kiss her, i am not sure i beleive him, and even if I did, the picture of them two kissing, even it this picture was manufactured with the help of darkness and my vivid imagination, this picture is haunting me and brings inside me the disgusting feeling of betrayal. At this poing it makes no difference, the original feeling is already created and no logic can there is one thing i am sure of. She, this other woman, has feelings for him even if he is saying he is not reciprocating, even if he just gives her a little innocent looking hug here and there, hey, you know, a woman knows, what another woman is after even if this guy says he never feels attracted to her and just uses her for emotional support and a shoulder to cry on.
We talked so more and then he mentioned he likes this girl who looks like a cat, and i was annoyed again and said i dont want to hear about the girl you like, and he said haha i am joking, and of course he wasn't, there is indeed a girl who looks like a cat, she is so beautifull that if I was a man i woul feel attracted to her too, I think we have the same taste. She is beautufull, she is a poet, she has almond shaped eyes and dimples on her cheeks and has a very soft and velvet like voice. She reads his poems and he posts them on his page, and the put their names next to each other and he wrote she feels like home. It made me remember one poem he wrote for me in April, maybe the only one he ever wrote for me, it was only four lines, i deleted it one of those days i was pissed of about something and now I can not retreive it. But it wrote something make your ribcage my home, something like that. So, he is now also expressing, through this other woman, his basic need when he want to come closer to a woman, for her to be his home. And to be honest this is a noble need to have, to have a person feel like home. And this is the main reason we will never be together. Because he expressed the same wish for me in the beginning, for me to be his home, and then a couple of weeks later, after all the ups and downs, he changed his mind, did not want a home in me anymore, but instead of leaving all together he was like, you know what, you can't be my home, but lets use you as cheap hotel, i can come every now and then, fuck you for a few hours and then go home, back to my bachelor life. This, I will never forgive him, the fact that he approched me like I was someone really important and then once he changed his mind, he degraded me to the lowest point of a one night stand cheap worthless whore.
But hey , lets preted we can be friends shall we ? Let's stand by and watch you being infactuated by another woman, lets watch the same pattern one more time, lets watch you fall in love and your fire start burning one more time, lets watch how new inspirtation is born in the mind of a resteless poet. Oh my sweet sweet dillusional creature. My little narcissistic, miserable creature, people like you where born with an extra dose of pain, and the ability to use this pain as a disguise to abstract, from other people and of course women who have a tendency to fall in love with sad poets, anything they can abstract.
Oh but be aware my beautifull unsuspected cat looking girl. He will see you and feel there is something exotic about you and his desire will awake. He will come to seduce you with his romantic words and he will be patient until you open up to the possibility of a true romantic story. He will test you first if you can be his imaginary perfect woman. If you dont fit in that role he will keep you as a lover, because he is still attracted to you and he likes to fuck you, he is by nature monogamus and prefers to keep the one he alredy knows than go and hunt for another. If you, eventually refuse to play the role of the uncommited part time lover, he will try to keep you as a friend, because he still has emotional needs and you can listen to him, advice him, and so on. Just as long as his has a role you can play you can still be in the show. And the show must go on. And the most important thing for him, is that he is conveinced he is a good person, he does not lie, he is innocent as an angel, he never ever admitts or takes accountability of his manipulative behavior.
So, where does that leave me? That is the question when for the past one month and half, i was attending events i knew he would be there, and had the condidence i would be able to handle it. Well appartently, i got a little taste of the poison of jealousy, and it hurt like hell and really, i dont need it. it was proved one more time, you can not pretend to be friends with someone you were lovers one month ago. One still has feelings, the other ones does not, the one who did not have feelings to begin with, and something happens to humiliate the one who still has feelings but pretends they don't. It is a magic turn of events, a kick from the universe that is tired of watching you torturing your self with illussions and wants you move on.
The conclusion is, I am putting my self in a position where I am playing with fire and hurting my self for no reason. I see you, you idiot, and I still want to come and sit next to you, I still want to smell you like an addict sniffing his dose, I wanted so much for you to hug me and listen to the music together, and life gave me a big, hard, painfull slap in the face. Stop your bullshitting Marina, get over it, stop looking to get a taste of crumps of a dinner that already went bad, we already threw in the bin. Marina, Marina, Marina you want love so much, that you miss the man who denied love from you, Marina, and you feel jealous of someone who did not want to be with you, who did not want to commit, who left you hanging again and again. Come on lets put an end to this, shall we? Lets move on shall we? Why the fuck does it take you so much time to burry your dead. Why the fuck do you keep them in the fridge and go and look their dead corpses checking again again if they will resurrect. They are dead. Say it with me, he is dead. Dead
If you needed this amount of pain to come to this
realization then it was generously offered to you. Now, do you want to proceed
or do you want another dose of pain ? there his is make hime your mirror
Proceed
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