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.

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.