It was a good time with S, though. Short, and maybe uninteresting from her side, but I found her to be amazing, beautiful, and every minute she spent with me was a gift that I felt I didn’t deserve, as If I had stolen it from some god and I was afraid I’ll be judged for my transgression. I felt like a thief of time, a cheat whose lies will be found out and exposed, who doesn’t belong though seemingly nobody notices or nobody cares. I felt like a stranger in a strange land where I have no place to be, where others greater than me belong and I have sneaked in, to take a peek and no longer want to leave. A time of happiness, a time of anguish, a time of fear. It was a beautiful time, when I felt like living a life that I could only dream of, a time of stolen moments with her, stolen kisses of her lips and stolen touches of her body. Things I stole to enrich my life, and, having nothing to give (though I tried giving everything I am), no way to compensate her for her losses. I was a thief and a lie, someone worthless in the land of greats, pretending to be one of them while being empty and useless, and, in the end, I was dealt with accordingly. It was a dream I stole for myself… I wish I had more time there, I wish I could dream on.

I broke up with S and now all I feel is a big void. She’s not on my mind constantly, but I think of her, at night, and imagine how it would be to meet her again, in the far future. I long for her, I miss her joy of life, her love of nature, the way she talked about all the fun things happening around her and all the things that didn’t work out for her. I want to be there to share the joy or to console her, hug her strongly, lie next to her. She was beautiful, as always, the last time I saw her, with her new skirt and colourful coat, with a strongly coloured lipstick… it was hard to be there, to say goodbye when all I wanted was to be with her. But I had no choice, I didn’t want to become some sort of friend, meeting once in a while. It would have made me sad. So here I am, with my void, thinking of her, and how I am just a speck of dust compared to her. Thinking of how amazing a life she has with all the nice friends and parties, all that nature that she loves so much, with all the natural beauty she has, and how me and my life pale in comparison.

I looked at a video she showed me of an artist, and the moment came back to me when she was so happy to see me at a party of her friends. I remember her jumping on me from the back hugging me, being happy. I don’t understand why was she so happy, but it was a beautiful moment, a moment I long for now.

Yesterday I sent her a short movie clip. She won’t respond — she never does. In a way, she feels like L, far away, impossible to reach, yet close to me in my dreams. I have to quit, and I will, and I hope I’ll have the courage this time around. I’m having a little party and I don’t think she should be there. But I’m afraid that the moment I see her I’ll reverse my decision and will give up all the time I spent about thinking of her for an evening of seeing her next to me. Not even with me — just next to me.

I met someone I knew before, and… It feels weird. I’m not sure if she is just playing a motherly role or not but, first for some time, I feel interested in her, as a person. She seems to have a depth that is underplayed.  Feels unsure but honest. She is the kind of girl who probably has had a hundred guys waiting in the line — she is the troubled one, the one who is longing for something strong that  can take her and carry her. I see in her what I am: troubled but ready to give, emotionally weak but acting strong.

I promised to myself and I didn’t break up with her. I see a mirror of myself in her, the way I acted last year towards so many. With no regard to their feelings, to what they need or want, blind to what they could give me, and what they were giving me. Yet, just like them, I can’t muster the courage to say goodbye, I secretly hope she’ll soon miraculously realise what I could bring to her. It’s tormenting yet beautiful. Feels like trying to reach a mirage, a figment of my imagination that I project and strive towards. There is no end to the road yet it’s always in sight. It’s good to see the end and I don’t want to let go, like those in the desert who know full well what they see is not real, yet lie themselves into thinking that it is, and with new strength strive towards it. I just hope not share their fate.

I feel like another failure is here. Trailing behind me like a shadow, barely catching up with me, then letting go, like a ghost of my consciousness. She doesn’t care about me, I can feel it, and that makes it uninteresting to spend time with her. She ignored me for so long that I’m starting to feel indifferent. It’s a weird feeling — I haven’t felt like this for some while. It’s a mixture of freedom and inconvenience, when you have nobody to direct your attention to, but you know you are capable of deeply caring. It’s more of a feeling of frustration than anything else. I don’t even know what I want, but I want it, and I want it badly, mostly now, but I couldn’t even appreciate it if it was now. So probably later, much later. Maybe a couple of months, maybe half a year would allow me to breathe, settle down, and see what I want. Until then, I think I’ll have to say goodbye to everyone, let them know I need space, and just cut myself out from the world. I need the old self of mine, alone in the wilderness, wandering. Like a in a quote I saw: not all who wander are lost.

I don’t understand S at all. She’s happy when I’m around, but rarely wants to meet me, and rarely writes. Am I too fast? Am I too slow? She seemed to have answered that question once, “You need to cool down” — it still rings in my head. This reminds me of someone else, at another time, at the same place, saying something similar. I’m starting to think: K really did love me. I didn’t understand it at the time, but all the time she spent with me and all the energy she put into being with me, including when she was angry at me, was because she really cared. I now think back and wish I had known. Yes, it’s burdensome, to be loved, and it’s hard to accept. It puts us in the uncomfortable situation that we know we can hurt the other. Maybe that’s what S fears, and hopes to control by not meeting me. Maybe she just doesn’t think of me, and it simply goes over her head. What a shame. Every time I don’t see her for a week, I start to think that it was nothing special, the way we met, and then, once I see her, I know what it’s al about, it comes back in a flash of light and I’m back to thinking: I want her to feel the same way. But she doesn’t.

S has got a ticket to ski with her friends. So there she goes, for a week. This will mean we will have seen each other twice in a span of 3 weeks. I think she doesn’t care about me at all, in fact. I feel sad and relieved, kind of like the closing of a book: it’s good that it’s over, but now I have think through it and it will get to me. I’ll re-live it again and again, thinking about what it all means.

I feel tired and disappointed in my own self. I unconsciously set my expectations too high, and I’m surprised when they are not met. But I don’t like to consciously set any kind of expectations — high, or low. Interesting relationships are unbound by space or time, go through us like a ray of light and make us surprise ourselves with our own actions. I have surprised myself: for a year I haven’t improved anything in the apartment, but since I have been expecting her to come, I have put a lot of effort into fixing everything. The apartment looks much more beautiful now. Beautiful, and empty.

She’s having a hard time with cold and fever, and I feel for her. I wanted to meet her for my birthday, but she can’t come, and I’ll be alone. This reminds me of almost all my birthdays, how typical. I’ve been meaning to meet her at my place, to be together with her, sleep with her, but I haven’t done that for 2 weeks now, and it’s beginning to get to me. How sad and how real.

I went to a conference and got a gift that I didn’t expect. She is wonderfully intelligent, fiercely independent, and enjoys what I have to say, while I enjoy the time I spend with her and miss her when she’s not there. It’s hard to talk about her, she’s so different. I got her at a point in life when I was down, and she made me happy with such ease it was hard to grasp. I remember a moment when we were ordering drinks, I put my hand around her and told her how happy I was to have met her, and she said the same. Although this seems trivial, it felt good at the time, somehow meaningful.

She is gone now, hasn’t written in a few days and I’m sad that I might have done something wrong. I think I did and it aches me, but I can’t undo it now and I feel lost. I think I should regain my balance again. Probably I should write her, or I should just remain silent, I don’t know and I feel lost. It’s something that used to happen to me when I was 16, being completely in the dark, without anything to hang on to, no rails, just floating, gravity seems to be absent, I don’t even know where up or down is. The roller coaster is rolling and I don’t even have the privilege to the view.