Another mistake.

The other day I was reading a book by Alain De Botton.  

 I felt a weird sensation, as he put into words, things that I have had great difficulty explaining even to myself.

“Though we sometimes suspect that people are hiding things from us, it is not until we are in love that we feel an urgency to push our enquiries and in seeking answers we are apt to discover the extent to which people disguise and conceal their real lives”.

This exact urgency was what led me to want to know.
And later I got to know too much.

Mr. De Botton goes on writing about me:

“It is one of the powers of jealousy to reveal to us the extent to which the reality of external facts and the emotions of the heart are an unknown element which lends itself to endless suppositions (supposing). We imagine that we know exactly what things are and what people think, for the simple reason that we do not care about them. But as soon as we have a desire to know, as the jealous man has, then it becomes a kaleidoscope in which we can no longer distinguish anything”.

I was jealous with her past, and threw the dirt I found straight into her face.

After knowing, I felt empty, dirty and despicable, I wish I didn’t know, I wish I could see her as I did before.

Claude Debussy - Clair de Lune from Iqra75 on Vimeo.

She has left, but she is not gone.

At the time of writing this, she is on her way back to her native country and her city of more than 12 million souls. But I am unable to see it's magnificent castles, squares, marketplaces and oceans of life. To my inner eye this city is quiet, and consists only of an image of her.

Frustration.

“Her heart withdrew into a safe which I didn’t have the combination to”

I heard this quote recently; it was spoken by a man that helped stop the Vietnam War. He risked his life and the welfare of his family by disclosing top secret documents to the public. He used the quote to describe his fiancées reaction to all the uproar and publicity suddenly surrounding them.

I have had the exact same feeling, experienced under very different circumstances. I think the words illustrates the helplessness and frustration one feels at that moment. Also knowing that I am the reason for it, for her pain, the one I love more than anything, how could I hurt her so much?

I am the nothing man.

Closure, not what is that, how does one go about getting that? Do I really want closure? I think part of me fears that I will forget her, that if I let her go, I will also lose a part of myself.

I recently learned that that there might have been a chance for our relationship, if only a sequence of events were changed. Just a small hand gesture, a touch, and our whole relationship could have been different. How it would have turned out, I will never know.

I would have been the first in-line for test pilots in at a time machine test facility; unfortunately, I am yet to find such an advertisement.

To me, it seems that it is the things we really want that also keeps us from having them.

Going home.

Woke up early, everything was prepared for leaving for the airport.

On the way there I felt her presence, next to me, but we didn't do much taking.

Only the shine of the full moon to watch over us.

Will I ever see her again, this girl that has showed me so much? This was a thought that kept

working it's way to the front of my mind.

Finally there were no tears, just a warm goodbye, as

I turned and left, remembering not to turn around to look at her, as she asked.

I arrived at a empty house, the house looked like it had lost its soul.

It was again turned back into a wooden box,

only made to protect people from the elements of nature.

But her footprints in the snow still remain, left as a memory of her, telling me the truth... she is gone.

The leaving.

She came to see me, as she was finishing her studies in Europe with a trip from the north to the south Europe. At first I was very reluctant to meet her, as our past together had not always been a happy one to say the least.

Last time I saw her and also left her, I left her in a country strange to both of us. I left for my born country, after a year in exile. A year, that started with high hopes, and ended in low self-esteem and broken bonds.

So, my uncool ed love and friendship for her, made it impossible for me not to meet her. And, now, after one and a half year, she is back.. for a while...

We smile, laugh and we cry, but the crust on the scars made
before is still very thin, and blood surfaces once again.