Drive by

Five minutes. It's all I get. I drive by, she jumps in. We don't talk, there's no need. I'm touching her. Kissing her slowly, trying to savour the instant, to have something to replay over and over once it's gone.

It's gone soon. She jumps out, sharing the last almost invisible smile with me. I speed up, leaving everything that happened to hazy memories.

After midnight

She's here, lying next to me, fast asleep. Me, my head filled by a tangle of thoughts. No complications, no doubts though. Amongst them thoughts, there's one shining clearer than any other: I care for her. Whatever happens — and whatever happened — I'm not to change anything.

I recall the moment I saw her for the very first time. Not in person, it was in the very beginnings of Facebook. I saw a photo of her back then. And thought — what if? I smile lightly.

Kissing her neck, my palm finds hers and I feel she's happy. Yeah — and I want her to be.

The Longest Night, Part Three

It started with fleeting kisses few months ago, followed by a neverending flow of messages and emails. Now — it seems natural and supernatural at the same time. Would I object if it did not take place?

It's so instinctive, so brutally normal — yet amazing and extraordinary, too.

I cannot stop looking into those dark eyes of hers, every inch of my body aching with desire, finally merging into a single being.

Making love, over and over again.

The Longest Night, Part Two

Accepting events as they unfold seemed to be the safest bet. A pleasant conversation over the dinner, a passionate fondling in a cab afterwards. And a few dragging minutes before the lights went off in my place.

I remember little. Showing her around and then, all of a sudden, her back pressed against the wall. Her eyes widening, her lips parting, her body melting.

Intermission. Me, gazing at her, astonished, overwhelmed. So was she, gazing back at me.

Engaging in small talk for those few remaining seconds before we found our way to the mattress, the centre of this squat universe.

Can you lend me a T-shirt, please?

Pressing my lips against hers and kissing her long and slowly. And gently, above all. She's giving in, naturally, calmly. And me, absorbed, fascinated, amazed: It's the real thing.

The Longest Night, Part One

It meant to be a dinner — and a decent one, too. Wine, friendly chat, laugh. A cab and a good-bye kiss.

Can you lend me a T-shirt, please, she asks nicely as we come to my squat. Yet this is not the same girl who was leaving the restaurant just fifteen minutes ago. My lips were pressed to hers as soon as we left, her eyes widened and she had drown in forbidden passion, willingly and knowingly.

The lights are disapproving. There are the shadows of the real life again, at least for the moment. Can you lend me a T-shirt, please?

I pass her one, probably the shortest I've had around. She puts it on and leaves everything else by the bedpost. The lights go off.

I'm left with no time to think, no time to wonder, no time to hesitate. This does not seem to be just my overgrown fantasy. It's the real thing.

Drive

Driving back and forth over and over again. Pushing the limits, soaking deep in ambivalent feelings of joy, need and responsibility; whatever that may mean.

For a moment, a short moment, I feel complete. I honestly believe that everything that is happening to me at the moment is as good as it gets, it's so close to perfect.

Still, I'm tempted. What about a different place, a different city, a different job. A different point of view. A different girl by my side. Don't settle, Jobs famously said, though I doubt this is what he meant.

I drive and am driven and I just cannot get enough. Would I not be around for much longer, I could always exit knowing it was an intense fun.

And drive, it's such a great metaphor.

Shivering

A year ago, I was sitting on the bench overlooking the city and slightly shivering; it wasn't a cold night, it was this beautiful creature sitting next to me, sharing the bench and extraordinary moments of closeness with my wonder-struck self.

I'd love her, I'd love her till the end of my days, oh God, I would, would she let me, would she wanted me to.

For months, I hoped she was hesitating, and maybe she really was. My brain cells still scream of pain and lust I went through; the most technicolor experience of my life, far better than any drug I ever tasted.

Then, one day, I finally woke up. Rejecting love — though it's just love in waiting — was brutal. Man, was I hurt, stabbing myself, cutting my veins, murdering my hopes and dreams. Seeing her was like burning in hell, yet still nothing like not seeing her; the torture seemed to be everlasting. Have anybody heard my silent screams? Have anybody noticed my invisible tears?

Few more months have passed until I slightly and painfully found my way around agony I was more dying than living through.

A year has passed and I'm still not cured. Yet I've buried my distress deep inside and we hardly come across each other these days anymore. I live, I laugh and I go on feeling stronger than ever.

Lunch?, a message pops in while I'm already eating. A thousand kilometers away. With somebody else.

And I'm still shivering.

Autumn swing

I smell autumn in the air. It's an early evening, I've just left the office. Left the car at home this morning so I could go out tonight and not hold back. The sharp sun is quickly setting. It's not cold yet — though one can smell what's to come.

A bus stop. No one can see it, I realise. No one! Everybody's mesmerised by their mobiles. The large hot bulb is shining right at them and they don't care. Should they?

It's no better on the subway: if it's not a mobile than it's certainly a Kindle or iPad. Am I any better? No, I'm not — but I've been trying. Hard.

Got rid of Facebook. Stopped tweeting. Instagram is left in the dark, too.

Meeting people instead is ambitious. Lunches, dinners, drinks. Even emails seem old-fashioned. Funny how fast the world evolves.

Thirty minutes left till my next meeting. Walking in a park, trainspotting, taking occasional moody photos I won't share with anybody.

I feel slightly displaced. But hey, those feelings subside as I kiss her neck gently when falling asleep. This has always worked for an autumn swing.

Hectic

You did not sleep at home, a colleague of mine hints seeing me wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

I did not, I admit without hesitating. In fact, I slept in four different towns and five different beds in last five nights. My car is my home: everything from toothbrush to iPad travels with me.

Tight schedule, yet manageable. And enjoyable at the same time. Emails on the go, phone calls while driving. Using hands-free, of course! I smile at the receptionist as I pass by. She smiles back, unknowingly. I smile at the taylor trimming my suit and she smiles back. Knowingly. Indeed, it does work.

When falling asleep in one of those beds, I smile again, looking at the perfect body lying next to me. This is rather the only bitter-sweet moment of the day.

I can't. I won't. I'm off again in a few short hours. My German class starts at 7 AM. The tutor will be pünktlich. So shall I.

Cherish

A lazy summer Sunday. Perhaps the last one this season. Sun is still making sure we sweat — yet the days get shorter, mornings chillier and the dark falls early.

We make love as we come alive and than just hang on in an unceasing hug, floating in and out of consciousness until the hunger wakes us up for good.

We eat and set ahead for a seemingly meaningless trip. By the river, by the trees, with my hand on her knee and her palm in my hair.

Shall we stay together? Time will tell. We discuss what ifs so naturally and matter-of-factly as I've never experienced before. This ain't a silly high school talk, this happens for real.

If I could love her, I would, although it's too early, my shattered heart is miles away and I can't pull myself together for now. I'm like a thief trying to get rid of old habits, desperately stressing to be a better man.

We dine in my favourite joint and then we split; and I'm leaving towards the setting bulb in the sky. I sigh lightly: my life has become a slushy romance — and I cannot get enough.

Arguing

Walking down the river bank with a bunch of friends on a lazy afternoon. Having a great time, at least I think so. Just a little catch I learn about once we come home.

— You didn't hold my hand — she complains.
— I didn't know I could!
— Yet you said you would!
— Yep, I did. Meaning when we're alone.
— You should have anyway.
— OK. I will. Tomorrow.

If this was the worst argument we were to have, I can live with it. And yes, we're together — it's official — I've just learned.

Pearl Jam, Prague 2 July 2012

Main Set: Sometimes * Animal * Given To Fly * Got Some * Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town * Gods' Dice * The Fixer * I Am Mine * Corduroy * Even Flow * Setting Forth * Not For You (Snippet: Modern Girl) * Push Me, Pull Me * Garden * 1/2 Full * Unthought Known * Wasted Reprise * Life Wasted * Why Go

Encore: Of The Girl * Just Breathe * Crazy Mary (Snippet: Angie) * Once * Do The Evolution

Encore 2: World Wide Suicide * Better Man (Snippet: Save it for Later) * Black * Alive * Baba O'Riley * Yellow Ledbetter

One more thing

Four years ago, I was sitting opposite her in a Mexican joint. She was shy, very shy, yet every time her eyes met mine, she smiled. Ended up giving me her number without me asking; and I knew I could.

Haven't seen her in a month. Popped by to swap books and photos.

— How are you? — She asked in a desperate attempt to start a conversation. It was plain and banal — and heartbreaking.

— Good. All's good.

— You, you wanna say anything?

— Nah. Am not ready yet, maybe later. — I sigh and stand up to leave.

I'm leaving and not looking back. Back in the street, I can breathe again. There's one more thing, I message her: I wanted to spend my life with you — and I'm still sorry it didn't work out.

She never replied.

Pandora's box

I was so close. Could have driven to her place and ring the bell. Could have called her and asked her out. To have a coffee. A chat.

If I ever had learnt anything about love, it was because of her. She made me go through all stages, numerous times. I hoped and wished for breaking up for ages, yet when it happened the relief was non-existent; the enduring pain lasted far longer that I'm able to admit even after more than a decade.

Yep; it made me the man I am today. And maybe that's why I cannot ring that bell.

Scaling down

I guess it has already started on a plane. An insomniac brain circling around the same topic over and over again. A girl sleeping next to me, another two awaiting me at the destination. And a few more scattered around. Me — an unsettled scumbag scoring like an alfa male. Pretentious. Perhaps fun for a moment — but then certainly a drag.

A week has passed. Overseas seems like a distant ship's smoke on the horizon. A mere week — and it's all different. Out of two, there's none. And I'm to deal with another two over the weekend.

Fine now. Time to concentrate.

Zona Sul

Resting in a hammock and doing virtually nothing but sipping caipirinha. Or lying on the beach and doing the same — virtually nothing but sipping caipirinha. The Wikitravel said clearly:

Perhaps the best thing to do in Rio is nothing

Right. I guess drinking, partying, lazily walking around or getting laid still counts as nothing. I'm drained and withdrawn; and before the restart, this is exactly what I hoped for.

Truly amazing how cool can nothing be.

Low point

Wanna come over tonight?, I message her, perhaps more shrewdly than anything else. I don't want to be falling asleep alone. I've had enough last weekend and insomnia is back with a vengeance. It used to be an integral part of my life for years and I'm worried now.

She longs to be caressed and she longs to confess. And cry: she breaks into tears as soon as she starts talking. It's the low point, her therapist apparently explained. It would get better and than worse again and better once more. Seemingly neverending sinusoid of highs and lows.

I'd love to help but I cannot: it's her own mind at stake, I cannot interfere. She has to find on her own what's good and what's not, what she wants and what she doesn't. Any advice would be useless if not hurtful.

I'm fondling her gorgeous breasts when falling into abyss of dreams and it seems perfectly natural — yet that's was not on my agenda; not even as a bonus. It's just happened to be a part of a connection of two wounded mates desperate for comfort, two lonely earthlings in the need of a helping hand in order to get through the night.

I'm sure you'll figure out the angles, Bob said.

Frank

Saturday mornings in Centennial Park. A bit too early and sometimes also chilly for my liking, with nature just about waking up; pretty much the same as me. We walk three rounds in a fast pace before we split, only to meet the following weekend again at the same place.

We — that's Frank, Joe and me. Like father, son and grandson, three generations set 25 years apart.

We talk all the way; U.S. mortgage crisis and the stock market volatility is the number one topic back in 2007. Sure, we may talk about arts, too. Photography, music, theatre. And sport. And history as well. Nevertheless, the state of the economy is always the prevailing theme of our seemingly perpetual agitated discussions.

Now, we've lost Frank. As fate would have it, I learned from Wikipedia, from the article I myself started.

Restart

Can I sleep at you place?, I asked her candidly a mere three weeks ago. Since, we grew closer again. I'll be in town on Wednesday, I message her a week later, if you don't mind my going to some business party, I'd love you to join. Quite the opposite, I'd love to see you, she responds.

We walk the dog swiftly and then drive to the party and park right in front of the nightclub, sort of Hollywood-like. No tickets are no problem and we get in without hassle. Free drinks, a buffet, casino-styled entertainment.

She's knocking the glasses of wine far faster then I can drink my water. Playing table football, dancing and laughing a lot before I lose her in a crowd. A bit tipsy, she's being chatted up by some local chap. Takes me a while to retake her and I decide it's better a time to go.

Speeding through the city, we only smile at each other once I stop. She hardly walks and I literally carry her home. She's hugging me, not letting go. Oh dear, I whisper. I have to go. Don't go, please, she's begging. Please, she keeps whispering. I'm going anyway.

I feel really sick, the message beeps before I get home. Speeding through the city the second time, I'm back at hers in ten minutes. Laying her down, I'm to go again, at least to the other room. Stay, stay with me, she mumbles.

I stay, making sure she's fine, trying not to jump to conclusions too quick. She's just got drunk, right? Right??!

I'm taking her for breakfast in the morning while she's amazed at herself: I can't believe I let you sleep in my bed; I never... —

— You're lovely; lovely even when you're wasted — I cut her short. She blushes and I know we are where we left last year. It's all cool again.

Forlorn

Business meeting held in a small town lost somewhere between France and Switzerland. Intermittent Internet connection, regular meals and lots of tea, coffee and snacks. There may be fifty of us around, mostly older than me. Managers, directors, you name them. Just few seem to be out of place as I am, others seem to love it. Hardly anyone wears a wedding ring, I noticed shortly and then just kept starring at people's fingers, obsessed, mesmerised.

Bonjour, monsieur. Bonsoir, monsieur. S'il vous plaît, monsieur.

They walk by and they nod nonchalantly and their suits seem to make them into a sort of weird mannequins they originally strived to be. Now they are. Flicking through their iPads, checking their Blackberries, playing buzzword bingo in a business lingo.

What kind of life is this? I could not see them walking around the lake or take photos of this sleepy spa town. And I'm stuck with them, too, without a possibility of parole. The shuttle will only arrive in three days.

Au revoir, monsieur. Bon voyage, monsieur.

I'm slightly melancholic as I'm watching the scenery when being driven to the airport. I'm glad when we take off. God forbid I'd ever become one of them.