You moved on and I stayed. You moved on to better lives, better partners, more meaningful relationships and I stayed. I stayed here, where I always was, the clown, the entertainer, the joke that I am, waiting to cheer up others, but everyone moved on. I am still here, where I always stood, alone, battered, and broken. I miss your kindness, your love, your care. I miss the mornings with you, the emotional spark that we had, the moments of joy and understanding. I miss calling you all up, getting a message from you, getting love letters and everyday love-poems, the ones we play that only when we look back do we realise what an intricate poem of love it was. I miss those rhythms, those rhymes. I miss the bond we had, the mornings we got up late or rushed to work, the bewildering sex we had, seeing my postcard on your walls, seeing my mark in your lives. It’s all gone now. All of it, the postcards, the small marks. You moved on, and I stayed. I can’t move, I don’t want to move. I’m tired and battered and I’ve had enough. I’m lonely, after all these years of love and care, I’m alone again.

I feel alone, again. It’s been a while. I remember those stretches of time, the feeling of loneliness extending into eternity. The feeling that nothing works and there is nobody to console me. The feeling of being rejected. That I, once again, don’t belong. I miss the times in my old hometown where I could just phone some friends up, drink a beer and enjoy the spring. I miss the times of going on dates, meeting new people, going down for a good music, randomly meeting friends. I miss having a beautiful apartment, I miss my cat. He was so good to me, and I was so horrible to him. I feel in a statis of nothing moving, nothing changing, no challenges other than having to wait and wait more. I waited twenty years to be outside of the home where I grew up and I hated it. I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to live.

It was a good night. I’ll remember that as long as I live. In the taxi, putting my hand on her had, in that kitchen, kissing her neck, slowly caring for each other’s bodies, and being woken up with a kiss. Oh, that was so amazing. I want to be there again, wake up to that again. She was really kind that night and morning. It was an exciting time, the conference, her, the lights outside, the yurt. Life seemed exciting and adventurous with a million things to explore and realize. Now it seems monotone, boring, everyday.

And wake up where the clouds are far behind me. That place exists. I have seen it. It was right next to me when we were driving down that road and she started crying. It was there on the last day of my stay, on the bed, listening to Arovane. It was there in that box I gave her with a pair of comfy shoes I found. It was there, in that small box she gave me with beautiful thoughts in it. And it was there, on that warm evening at that installation of Stella, when we first saw it. And it was there on that warm summer morning at the park near the lake. I remember that place.

I wonder if life is nothing but a set of moments when we get to experience the beauty that captures us, that captures our imagination, that drives us to do more, see more, feel more. Beauty that lets us hurt more, love more. These moments are products of the everyday, the unplanned, the unexpected. I miss these moments. They drive me to see more in this world, to see what it has to bring rather than what it has to take. Through this lens I get to see the people, the places in a different, softer light. It’s been a while I saw such light, it’s been a while I have let myself go and closed my eyes enough to allow my imagination to wander and see more than what the naked eye could see…