It was beautiful and adventurous. Thank you, L, K, M. I owe you so much.

I’ve found L again on Facebook and I saw the pictures I once felt lost. Looking at them felt like a ride back in time, to a place of beauty and warmth, light-headed and magical. She hasn’t got any picture where her face can be seen, which makes her even more mythical. But there is this one photo where she is wearing a beautiful dress, in high heels, with the back to the camera, so elegant, slender, beautiful, just her long brown hair down her shoulders. The contrast is so apparent between her normally relaxed and easy-going clothing and the elegant one she is wearing, it makes me wonder how many personas do we all have, which ones do we show to whom, and why. I wonder if I’ve been showing the one I like, or the ones others like, and whether I should be more open, more daring, take on more risks in terms of emotional openness, or close up and let others guess or think I’m empty.

A couple of days ago she came to to my dreams. We met and she came with me, we went through some hills through desolate, empty but newly built industrial complexes. They were shiny, new, cold and void of people. It was just her and me. Once we arrived, she wouldn’t go into anything intimate, it was a conversation where we didn’t even touch the surface, and I was terribly disappointed and unhappy, but kept on playing my part. I kept lying in the bed, and she, talking to me, was sitting on the edge. It was good to meet her in my dream, but it was hard to see us being so cold.

Days have been long lately. It’s weird. I don’ think of her, yet whenever I try to explore why am I so incapable of doing anything meaningful, I arrive at her. It’s a cat-and-mouse game. She catches up to me in the evenings as I ling in the emptiness, seemingly alive but in fact only swimming in the void. I look around and see nothing, yet her presence permeates me. It seems as if I’m waiting for a coin to drop, a meaningful moment I can listen on to, but there is nothing, just the noise of regular days that fail to drown out my hope of hearing that one sound.

I’m starting to think there is such a thing as winning someone back, something I never thought possible. Yet I know it’s only a mirage, a ghost of my own sanity that projects these images to some form of TV in my head. I start to see why many are so drawn to the TV where their hopes and dreams are projected day by day, making them semi-real, blowing away all their real dreams and nightmares. My dreams stay with me, live with me. I care for them, carry them, weave them longer and longer, until they fade away to be replaced by other, more elaborate ones. I remember the scarf I gave her and the woman that was weaving one just like hers next to where I stayed. I can see her movements, just weaving, reminding me of all those moments of sincere happiness I felt. Yet she didn’t much care for the scarf, even though I rarely give presents to anyone.

I remember the night she asked me to be inside of her instead of just giving her pleasure through other means. I should have noted that. Maybe she was, at that point, interested in me, as a person, as someone more than just a fancy sex toy. I understand it, though: during casual conversations, I floated over her and didn’t pay attention. I just “went along” my own way, incidentally realizing that she was also there. What a mistake. So, gradually, our relationship faded away. I seemingly didn’t have anything to give. Should have taken her to parties, meetings with friends. But I was too controlling, I wanted her only for myself. It’s hard to let go of control and at the same time pay attention, be a meaningful participant. It takes a lot of concentration and self-questioning to change habits, and I often feel too tired.

Lately, MH seemed so distant, I felt that something must be awfully wrong, so I dressed up for our meeting, and went in with the certainty that I’ll be let go, which is what happened after inquiring about her apparent distance. It was good to finally talk about the issues, and I think she felt relieved, we even kissed a little bit… and then tragedy struck.

I’m still in shock, I really felt for her. But I felt like I shouldn’t be around, that she doesn’t want me to be there, which she expressed in no uncertain terms. It’s one thing to know that you don’t count, it’s another to hear it being said, seeing it being acted out. I think it was one of the most humiliating moments in my life. I really wished she cared for me so that I could console her, I could care for her, I could hug her.

She’s away now, and I’m stuck here. I wish I could write her (but I shouldn’t), I wish I could tell her how much I feel for her loss, how I would like to console her, just hold her. But that’s only a fantasy, I could never console her. She would need to feel different about me, about us, and we would need to know each other more. Or maybe if you love the other, superficial things like knowledge of family history don’t matter. Or they do, and it’s all in my dream-world that overflows into reality so I can feel empty and tired yet strangely energetic when she’s on my mind.

It’s 3:30am and I should sleep but can’t. I put her picture in the background, just like that, no planning, no direction, to watch her being playful in the desert, her and her bright blue sweater.