I want to go to a conference but I know S will be there. It’s hard to go this way. I can already see her, in the hallways, haunting me. It will be hard to see her, but the conference is about what she has shown me, what she made me interested in. In a way it’s much of what embodied her: intellectually stimulating conversations about things that matter, long chats about the state of the world and the art to express it. I will try my best to go, but I’ll be fearful to stroll the hallways, and if I see her, I don’t know what will happen, how strong or soft will I act, how much will my voice tremble, and how much will I try to express her what I feel. There is no real point in expressing what I feel: she already knows. But I always think that by saying it again, in a different way, and not necessarily in a verbal way, would make a difference. But it won’t.

This amazing site allows to share memories… Memory lane is long and winding. I remember her, the day when we met in a square at a statue. She was waiting for me in the sun, swimming in the warmth of the sunrays. I remember her peaceful pose, the way she put her hand into mine, the time we passed while I was trying steal some time to kiss her but couldn’t, her friends that were amazing but I couldn’t pay attention to.  I felt the distance she put between herself and me, and I felt sad, but hopeful. It was somehow magical, slow,  weirdly restrained, and amazing.

Quand reviendras-tu ?
Dis ! au moins le sais-tu ?
Que tout le temps qui passe
Ne se rattrape guère…
Que tout le temps perdu
Se rattrape plus…

I was walking with some people around and when starting to walk towards a metro station I realized it was the street of S, just around the corner. Strange how you associate feelings with places, how you get reminded of moments by physical clues. I remember the time I went to visit her, the first time, the flower I brought, the jacket I wore, the clumsiness of my behaviour, the love I wanted to share with her, and her story about her sister and her sickness. Memories give weird rides: beautiful and sad, vivid for some detail (like that we didn’t kiss) and blurry for others. It was a long ride home, thinking of her, the good moments, the bad ones, the happy ones, the strong ones, the soft ones. What a ride it was.

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.