Home again

Dreams do come true sometimes. It's Christmas, I made it, I made it to her place. It's becoming my home, too, at least temporarily till I get a proper one. Preferably together with her.

I don't know how many times we made love, I lost count during those unbelievable past months; not that I don't care, I'm just trying to look furter into what's next.

For now, it's the family thing. I spend times with her folks and relatives and I take her to see mine. They know her even from our high school days, however I'm still kind of nervous bringing her over to see them. I'm paralyzed, to be fair. It goes smoothly and I'm relieved.

Few days later I'm taking her to see my squat and spend the New Year's Eve with me there. She's fine with it and she's fine with places I take her around the city. And she's fine with me. And I feel so normal all of a sudden. Just being with her.

Menu

Sometimes, even though less and less, I feel the urge to reset. To get wasted; a sort of like in the old days, just a tiny bit more sophisticated. Maybe the way the others would not notice. Or if they would, they could not be certain.

A top floor lounge, the spot to be. Great views of the city, a decent lighting and deep-deep sofas. An open bar with an unlimited stream of drinks coming my way.

— What're you having?
— Champagne. And I'll run the cocktails menu then.

Laugh. There's only about eight cocktails on the list and I'm running the second round soon. I'm being nice. I can walk. I'm still articulate.

Leaving after hours, smashed yet civilized. Perhaps I'm growing up.

Surreal

We went hiking. Hand in hand, up the hill, leisurely talking about future. A mutual one. It's surreal, we've only been together briefly, so it should not surface yet. Am I worried? I must be! I keep asking myself but always coming down to the same conclusion: nope, there's nothing to be worried about. I love her the way I never loved anybody else. And I want to spend the rest of my days with her. Pathetic. I know. Sigh.

Drinking tea in a cabin, then slowly returning to the car. Mid-November weather is gracious; as if the summer should never end. It is all too overwhelming, overwhelming for both of us. I cannot count how many times we have to stop to kiss and embrace. Crazy. Odd. Puzzling.

Surreal. Surreal but nice.

Euphoria

It takes ages to get there. Traffic jams in the city and then some more on the highway. A stop or two to recharge. I'm not sure if the time I'm pulling off still qualifies as night, or is it dawn already. Who cares, I'm with her.

Electrifying. That's the word. The moment she opens the door and the rest of the world stops existing. She's half naked, her lips parting, her scent filling my senses, we're making love immediately, no foreplay, no hesitation, no time to waste.

She's feeding me and then we're making love until the sun is up. It's almost November but the Indian summer is not giving in. I'm not either, though I'm drifting off dead tired. Dead tired — yet euphoric. This is working. I have a woman I always wanted.

A walk downtown, a dinner in the country nearby, then coming back to make love again. And again. Remember these moments well, I keep repeating, remember and cherish them. It's not always like that and there's things that will not last, transforming hopefully into something equally beautiful but definitely far less lustful. She's nodding. Fingers crossed, she gets it as she might be even more overpowered by emotions than I am.

A lunch with her parents on Sunday, then walking the dog around the neighbourhood. We have time to talk. And we do talk. And the more we talk, the more I feel she's the one. I wanna stay with her, would God let me.

Another night of pure passion and then it's time to pack. I'll be back soon, my lady, for I need you in order to be myself.

Law of attraction

It's true. I'm here, drenched in my thoughts, all circling around a single piece of information: it's real. This is really happening. And it's happening to me.

I'm kissing her, kissing her over and over again as if to make sure I'm not dreaming; and I'm madly in love, just like in those heydays of the nineties, just a bit wrinkled and greyish, yet still young — maybe even too young — at heart. Loving and being loved — and enjoying every moment of it.

I've had this recurring dream over the years, hidden back in my head, showing up unexpectedly from time to time, leaving me shaken once I woke up. I'd take her out, we'd talk, I'd see her off, she'd let me in, we'd make love.

I'm overjoyed and fascinated. And above all, happy, happier than I would ever hope I'd be.

Fingers crossed, I'm not gonna fuck up.

Love that never fades

It's been a while, a while approaching fifteen years. So much has happened, so much I've experienced. A lot's been forgotten, a lot crooked, a lot has gone amiss.

But there were good days, yeah, frankly, most of them were good. And the faith that there would be some even better ones, that faith kept me going and does until now.

Yet here I come, back for a week, with feelings that went unnoticed for ages. This is my city, I proclaim, not even being there yet, just imagining the high street with its bars and shops, with its preserved intangible atmosphere, unseen and unfelt by strangers, imagining the parks and backstreets with genius loci untouched by time passing by.

Do I belong here? I keep questioning myself; and I have no means to tell. I suppose. Or suppose not; I've lived in so many places, so many apartments which I called home that pointing at this one as the real one seems creepy. It has to grow on me, and even if it does, I'll go back to my current home in seven days and I might keep looking for a new one again all over again. A constant wanderer, a constant nomad fueled by craving to seek beauty wherever I move.

My city. My love that never fades but unceasingly calls for being apart to excite. Until I'm back and for a moment I stop in a silent embrace with this centre of my universe that once shaped me into what I still am today.

Sentimental blues

Six years ago, we used to party together. He, freewheeling through his life, careless and free, me, a squarish drunk trying to fight insomnia and depression, two souls who probably found each other at some bash at three in the morning.

Comin' home to fight cancer, said a short line I got less than two months ago. What cancer?, I replied few weeks later when I found the message. He did not live to read it.

Dressed all in black, staring at the coffin. And all I can think of is — too young, too fucking young.

Those were the heydays, sharing money, each other's apartments, alcohol, drugs and experience. Talking shit and chicks, somehow missing that we were going through the time of our lives. Everything was real, everything was possible.

Dressed all in black, squeezing a tiny little bottle of Jim Beam. He's still here with me.

Teased

Sometimes it works out, most times it doesn't. Messsaging hot and juicy, the thoughts are electrifying. Who said that sex is all about head? Damn right, it is.

I wish I had her, she seems to wish to be had. Yet there's circumstances. A boyfriend. A business trip. A sickness. A visit. Overtime. Anything.

And I'm trying, trying, trying. I play along. Because it's worth it. Though most times it doesn't work, sometimes it does.

Tempted

Were I ten years younger, I would be tempted to love her. Being who I am, I can only make love to her and leave my silly thoughts unrevealed. She's not talking either. Studying those deep eyes of hers, trying to comprehend what's going on inside her is filling and charming enough. Because it must be and there's no other avenue for two incidental lovers but to keep their dubious experiments within limits — or quit. And I guess neither party is ready to quit yet.

First night

Moving, then travelling without moving. Lying in bed, eating Nutella and strawberries. Watching a Woody Allen flick. Discussing. Having a laugh. Brushing teeth together. Listening to U2.

So far, it works.

Knives

What I learned to like about many establishments around the world is their door policy hypocrisy. I cannot take my Swiss knife in: would I want to stab somebody, I'm to use in-house cutlery provided courtesy of the very same establishment. A beer glass is also proven to work just fine ever since Trainspotting.

What a convenience!

There can always be a Plan B if one's eager to enter: it's fine to pass the knife onto the chick one's with — who's gonna care to check her all-inclusive handbag?

Rightie-o. What is there to like?

When I don't feel like going to a place, I let them find the knife and tell them I cannot let them keep it for me while I'm there. Naturally, they turn me down and I leave, not hesitating for a single second. I'm happy to leave the party behind — as long as the girl I wanna stay with comes along. A gamble? Works flawlessly.

Tox

6:45 PM. I'm falling asleep in my car across the street from a jazz club. In and out of consciousness, being woken up twice in minutes by phone calls, only to drop off momentarily.

Thirty minutes later. Pulling myself together, sitting in a club on a river bank. Green tea, please. The last work-related phone call of the day: I'll sell you whatever you want as long as you accept my price and conditions. Is that OK with you? Watching the boats passing by, slowly waking up. The band starts to play, a bit too indie for my liking. Drowning in thoughts.

She's here shortly. Vodka Red Bull? Right, anytime babe. Thank you, dear Absolut, for all those flavours you make.

Talking about Pittsburgh and New York, boys and girls, and about life in general. I'm feeling so good, I find myself admitting. Having a smoke and a laugh on a sundeck. The sun has set. Another band started playing.

Way past midnight, considering options. A cab, my place, a pizza order over the phone. Vodka orange and one of those sugary movies about the city that never sleeps. This is the first time she's stayed over, I realise as I'm drifting off hours later.

Very leisurely greeting a new day. A stroll about, guiding her through the neighbourhood. English breakfast in the best coffee place around. Having enough time, wandering through the city centre back to the spot I left my car last night. Driving her home, Hendrix is playing on a radio.

When I'm sad, she comes to me
With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free
It's alright she says it's alright
Take anything you want from me,
Anything.

For every detox, there must be a tox first. And boy, am I loving it!

Central Park

Here again. Saturday midday, sunshine is filling the baseball field nearby. Kids are screaming. We're sitting on a bench, I'm holding her tenderly over the shoulders and smiling. I'm in a mood, talking too much — and too much shit, too. Earthy, vulgar, jolly. She laughs — at me and with me — and I know that this is a moment of a true connection, a priceless instant that keeps us going on. And going on together.

Mad

It's mad. Sitting in a cab, kissing her. Totally mad. Out of all, I had to choose the one I'm bound to see daily. She knows much more about me than anybody else — and if she does not, she learns soon. Because she can.

Still, I'm kissing her lips and looking into those perplexed eyes dazzling back at me.

Nothing happened. Yet now, every time I'm passing her, I cannot help but wonder.

Automatic

Living in automatic mode for ages. Work, relationships, activities. Seldom slowing down to look back or replaying what's been going on, seldom contemplating. Disastrously tired yet certainly not able or willing to slow down.

Not looking for a change; not even realising there might be a need for one; not ready, not exploring.

And then, while sitting in a café in a leafy suburban street, the world pauses for a moment and everything comes to me crystal clear.

It was about time I started drinking coffee.

Announcement

He hardly ever talks to me. And if he does, he just hints. Or rather hints at hints. And he looks at me and keeps quiet. He's been doing it ever since I've known him — well over twenty years already. Just looking at me and maybe letting a short chuckle out. If I were to be Yossarian, he would make the perfect Orr. Him grinning at me with imaginary horse chestnuts in his mouth and me having no clue what it's all about. The revelation? It hardly comes. No, let me correct that: It's non-existent.

I can get mad as much as I want, nevertheless I cannot help but love the guy. Having a brother like him is highly entertaining. And great, no matter how one looks at it.

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and I'm having a very late lunch with my girl. Sipping the tea and watching Blaze of Glory on MTV in the back, we chat. How's he, she asks, when is he getting married?

When are you getting married?, a question pops on his iPhone few seconds later while I continue to sip my tea.

Whatever happened in next two minutes is a mystery to me. Did I puzzle him? I wish but I may never know! Then the message buzzes. A firm date, just three months from now. Don't tell anybody, I'm to announce it yet, he adds.

I cannot help but love the guy.

Tripping

Dead tired. So naturally dead tired. It's 2 AM. I'm still not sleeping. Insomnia, my closest friend, stays with me through the night. I'm to wake up at 4 — latest! — to go somewhere a.k.a. to socialise for business.

Hours earlier, I was sitting in a suburban restaurant, sipping water and eating chocolate cake. We chitchatted until late. I suppose I could have kissed her on my way home or maybe even take her to her place or mine and see what would happen next. Nope. I went home, so nonchalantly missing a chance.

This guy here wants you, she was told by a tipsy lady who was trying to guess what's really between us. There's nothing, I said. It's purely platonic. So be it.

It's 8 AM. I'm sitting on a plane, trying to fall asleep somehow. At least for an instant, it would help. I see things. And amongst them, I see how this squat of mine should look one day. I finally cracked it, Steve had said. I'm perplexed. Now? It's insane but I'm loving it.

Two days later, after I socialised enough, I'm back. Weary as ever. As soon as I alight from the plane, I'm meeting my long-legged slender architect. She's close to perfect, wouldn't it be for drinking beer and chain-smoking. I finally cracked it, I'm explaining with a grin. She hates it but accepts.

I have a plan now. And still am dead tired. So naturally dead tired I'm dropping to bed unconscious. Well, that's a start!

Dinner

It's her birthday and I'm taking her for a dinner. I don't have to — I just want to. Perhaps to show her that I care. Or, more accurately, to make myself sure that I still care. I used to love her once and — as usually through my roller-coaster ride — to a degree I still do.

A fancy Italian restaurant, surely one of the best I know in this city. She loves it from the moment we walk in. I smile at her and I talk to make her laugh. Leaving my iPhone in my pocket, this is the best combination I can provide.

It goes well. Very well. She's relaxed, loosening. And we talk openly, as openly as possible between two former lovers having fun.

Then, suddenly, she breaks. You should find somebody you can love and not just be with somebody you can be with and be seen with. She starts crying.

I hear her well. I grew older. I grew comfortable, if not altogether comfortably numb. I do not feel like being out there anymore, grew tired of going through the same escapades over the time. Do not feel the urge to change.

Within few minutes, we're back, laughing and chatting as if that awkward moment never happened. It might have sunk, submerged deep underneath in our minds, I cannot feel it anymore. At least for a while.

Then later on, alone with my thoughts, it comes back with a vengeance. People tend to crave for love. And some do for commitment, too.

I wonder. If she were only five years older back then. I'll never know. It's too late. I'm falling asleep puzzled.