Wish

I was in love, but his summers were not dedicated to traveling with me. It was a hot, humid Istanbul night, and I just wanted to curl into his arms, and tell him about the most stunning mosaics and impressive crowds. About the sunsets that made everyone looked tanner and happier. And drinking coffees, buying spices. I wanted him to be happy to see all that. It was not enough that I saw it - I wanted him to experience it as well. I wished he was there with me.

And then yet another beautiful summer, I swam in a crystal-clear water somewhere in Zingaro nature reserve and dipped in deeper, discovering little colorful fish. And, I wished so much he was there with me. But we were not together anymore.

One more year, and he writes me from Siem Reap:

"It was amazing... I wish you were here!"

We are on the same page now, I guess.

Mistakes

It was somewhere between falling into the bed in that so-familiar embrace and me talking French to him afterwords, as cute as ever.

'You are making a mistake.'

He did not answer. I knew he needed to go - as far as possible, as alone as he was able, as free as only we are when we close the eyelids and imagine. I did not have an idea if the mistake hint would stay in his mind, if it made him unsure, if it made him think.

...
More than a year after those good-bye moments, in the same embrace, he tells me

'I missed you every day. I missed you more than anyone else.'

So now you know. It was not too late

In the land of tulips

Creating a romantic connection with someone who you have known for a big part of your life is not all that simple. We were in love, him not as long as me, but still, we were, for some time. We had an ocean between us and a few disappointments. Some time of silence followed, and when I then saw him after some years, I ensured myself that I did not feel any attraction. I found him impolite, and his ideas populistic. He drank too much. And, I was in love with someone else.

Exchanging a word or two from time to time, and then exchanging first touches, a promise of a visit, then the visit, some bottles of wine (he still drinks too much), multiple grasses matinees, I found myself silent in the conversations, shy speaking my mother tongue, and unwilling to see him as the man that I could fit with. 

I am heading south, to my current home, as only few hundred kilometers of land separate us now, remembering meeting his colleague earlier today while grocery shopping. 

"Is this your girlfriend, buddy?"

"Yes"

I did not handle the good-bye too well, big tears rolling out of the eyes - of course only once he turned the corner. I wanted to stay, roll in bed till noon each day, cooking dinners, and telling him to take the trash out. I wanted to stay and be the first saying good morning to him. 

It scares the hell out of me. 

Eyes and paws

Giggling, having the typical 'after' mood, I say "And now, it is the moment you need to tell me about my beautiful green eyes and the prettiest smile you have ever seen."

The occasional sunbeam-intruders wade through the curtain separating the moment from reality. The static energy is frozen in the air. Perfection is achieved, happiness assumed.

"I like your eyes, and your tiny nose. I like your breasts and those little paws."

I have been staring at my feet from time to time since, not finding much that could be interesting.

Purposes

I was going home on Friday night, alone in a full metro wagon. The only desire I had at the moment was to be in bed as soon as possible - only if I could close my eyes and opening them again in the morning, I would found myself in the blankets. I was not particularly happy or particularly sad. I was just alone, in a wagon full of people tired of life or people ready to live their lives - that very night.

And, how it is a habit of mine in moments like this, I, once again, questioned the purpose. You know - the higher purpose of me being here. What is the point... what could be the point - constantly look for happiness or satisfaction or smash people with your elbows to ensure a little place in this world that is yours. What is the point of looking forward to the weekend... why would I construct plans for next vacation right after I finished the last one...

And then, I get a message. As simple as that. I was happy to see you.

As simple as that. I guess that is the point. Not me.