memory lane

As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain I will never forget you.

I wrote about this one before but I can’t find it anywhere so I will write it down again. This was said to me. Not written, but said. And I thought it was weirdly romantic. He laughed then, saying that it is our kind of romanticism, and he was right. In the meantime, this man is not a part of my life anymore. We knew the day would come but we tried to ignore it until it was there and he left. Which is okay and his proper right to do. But that sentence there, it keeps repeating in my mind. Over and over again. If it is true, then he will not forget me for a long time. I don’t want to be forgotten. Least of all by him. He who meant so much to me at one moment in time and who still does, who will always do.

When I shared this sentence with a friend, she was disgusted and thought it was very disrespectful. And I wondered if I had rose-tinted glasses on to be happy about these words. Now, a long time later, and these words still get to me and they are still disgusting to other people. For me, they are the ultimate declaration of love.

Funny how people see one and the same thing and feel so differently about it. Or maybe I am just weird. By the way, that same man said to me that he felt abject loneliness without me and that I was the only one who could fill the holes in his heart, in his mind and in his soul. Indeed, he is a writer… but come on… Those are amazing words to hear… Alas, love or an infatuation is not always enough. And I am not a romantic person anyway…

(written in August 2016 and still true)

When two become one

“I had these ideas about you. None of them are true…”
“Like?”
“Well… You’re a smoker.”
“Been one for 30 years. What else?”
“You’re smaller than I expected”

*He groans, rolls his eyes and puts his cigarette out with the heel of his sneaker. She’s embarrassed and nervous, trying to find words to say that aren’t offending or insulting in this awkward situation.

“Go on…”
“You are much more handsome than on your pictures.”

*He smiles. She’s back on track.

“What else?”
“I said “no” when you asked about being intimate on our first date. I meant “yes”.”

*The admission leaves her timid and waiting for rejection. She puts a lock of hair behind her ear. It jumps right back to where it was. He stands straighter, anticipating what will be happening next.

“I can’t see how this has anything to do with the way you imagined me to be”

“I judged you. I don’t know you.”

*It’s almost an apology. Almost.

“We spoke on the phone for two years.”
“I know.”
“You know exactly who I am. Maybe not my mannerisms or my daily habits. You know the deeper me. You know me better than anyone else.”

*It’s flattering to hear these words, but she is sceptical. Does he really tell the truth or is this his way of getting what he wants? It doesn’t matter. Who cares? She gives in. No reason to fight the feelings she doesn’t want to fight.

“You had me with that smile, moments before you said hello.”
“Two years ago I told you that I would never fall in love with you and that I only want sex from you. I lied.”

*She blushes and smiles at his feet. She still doesn’t know what he sees in her; she is short and overweight; and he could have every girl he wants.

“Come here… We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s make the best of it.”

*She nods. Their eyes are locked and their breaths mingle, moments before their lips touch. Her heart races and her knees feel weak. Electricity. He tastes of cold smoke and she can feel his smile on her lips. His hands find an immediate way under her shirt. The heat of his skin on her back leaves imprints on her soul that she can never wash off. She needs more of him. All of him. As much as he is willing to give. If he lets her in, she will submit to him, surrender to his needs. She will become his everything. With an urgency, they find the bed behind them. Clothes are quickly disposed of. There is no time to waste. Not even to appreciate the nakedness of the other. He used to ask her to tell him that she loves him. For the first time, these words leave her lips without being a lie, just as he enters her and fills her in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Completion. This encounter is more than she ever expected it to be. It is less too. Two lonely humans giving in to their primal urges after building up to this moment for more than two years. Everything they ever said, everything they ever wrote; every picture they ever shared – everything led to this moment. The moment when two become one. And although everything that is happening right there is ordinary, nothing about it is, in fact, ordinary. Moans, sweat, the scent of sex, the creaking of the bed. Two people who stopped thinking. Only existing. Become one.

Another drunk letter to a stranger

Dear Stranger,

Another six week until we meet again. Am I allowed to admit that I am scared shitless? What if you don’t like me anymore? And what if we will not meet in the end? Gosh… We haven’t spoken in weeks. How are we supposed to be able to see each other face to face. With our past standing between us? I am not the woman you think I am. I need your encouragement to see this through. You’ll be 45 in two weeks. You are a man who saw the world and lived two lives. Me, I am 24 and inexperienced in most parts of life. I don’t want to blame my past, but if you grow up the way I did… Ha… Who cares? Not you. Yeah… Those words hurt. You should care. You really should. It’s me we’re talking about. The one you’ll let slip through your fingers. And you will regret it for the rest of your life. I don’t want your love. I just want you to see me, the way I see you. I see through your bullshit although I am not visible at the moment for you. It’s my own choice. Fear and hope. Please forget me. Please don’t ever forget me. Six weeks. I want to put my nose against your neck and feel your breath against my skin. Your eyes on me. Your words, just for me. We are cowards. We will stand in the same room, wondering if the other is there or if the other is thinking about us, but we will not get in touch. We will lose the opportunity. Maybe the only one we’ve got. One chance. And the way I know us, we will blow it. Or maybe that’s just me, yeah, maybe that’s just me.

Where are you now? I haven’t seen nor heard anything from you in such a long time. Please be okay. Please don’t disappear on me. Please don’t forget me.

As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain, I will never forget you.

Still the most romantic thing I was ever told. I wish it was true.

Dear stranger, six more weeks. Do something. Court me. I will be yours, there’s no doubt about it. You just have to want me again. Please want me.

Gosh… I am pathetic, pleading and begging…

I will never send this letter your way. Doesn’t mean that I am not thinking these things.

Oh and in case you were wondering. I am well. Thank you for asking.

Lots of love,

C

don’t leave

​I am here. Wide awake, when I should be sound asleep. All alone, when I should be with you. Your scent still lingers on the pillow next to me, and I pull it closer to me. It makes me safe. Safer than I am without you by my side. I want to inhale it and bring you back to me. I am not ready to let go.
I knew that this would happen sometime soon. I knew, that one night, I would wake up, and you would be gone. That night is now. You promised you would never leave me. But you broke your promise. You did this to us.
I came home, and your bags were packed, ready at the door. You said you would go back to your mom’s until I found a new place to stay. But where am I supposed to stay? I don’t have the right to work here. I don’t have much money left and the friends – they are yours, not mine. Not one of them will offer me a couch to sleep on, because no matter how you’ll twist and turn it, I’ll stay the stranger, the foreign woman, who gave up everything for you. You couldn’t look at me when you walked out of the door, and I refused to scream and shout at you. I refused to call you back. I refused to cry in front of you.
Maybe that was my biggest mistake. Maybe I should have fought for you. Maybe I should have asked what was going on and where it all went wrong. I didn’t even think about it. I just saw you and your bags and the determination in your eyes. And the sadness too. I let you go, and it broke my heart.
It’s the middle of the night, and I am still clutching your pillow. I don’t want this to end. I am not ready to let you go. In the spur of the moment, I grab the phone and dial your number. I take a deep breath and sit up straight. I pull your pillow onto my lap and straighten the cover around my legs. On the third ring, you pick up and for a moment, I am speechless. No words are ready to be said.
“It’s me.” I finally say, still running my hand over imaginary creases in the sheets.
“I know,” you say. I wish I could hear more hope in your voice. Instead, I hear weariness and sadness.
“What happened?” I ask, coming straight to the point.
“Everything. Nothing. I am dried up,” you confess and, wouldn’t I know what you are talking about, I wouldn’t understand. But I do. You have lost your creativity. The worst possible scenario for a painter. You haven’t touched a brush since I am here. I am not keeping you from your work, at least not consciously, but you don’t paint anymore.
“Is it my fault?” I ask, dreading the answer. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe it’s the natural way of creativity. It’s like a wave, sometimes all consuming and there and other times only barely tangible. Almost nonexistent.
“Maybe,” you whisper, and I can feel the tears burning in my eyes. I knew it, but I didn’t want to hear it. I am confident that I will never win your heart over your art. You live, breathe, sweat for your art. I can’t win this war. And I shouldn’t want to see it as a war. It’s a part of you. One I fell in love with, too.
“I don’t want you to go,” I finally say, after a short silence that was heavy on the line.
“I don’t know what to do. It’s all I can do. I am good at it.” I can practically see you running your hand over your bald head. Back and forth, feeling the stumbles underneath your fingertips.
“I know. I know.” I whisper, and I can feel you pulling away even further from me. You are slipping through my fingers, and there is nothing I can do.
“I can’t sleep without you by my side. I never thought that I would be addicted to you like this,” you say, and I feel the same. It gives me a little hope. I can’t sleep without feeling your body close to mine and hearing your rhythmic breaths.
“But I am draining you. Why can’t I be a source of energy for you? Why can’t I inspire you?” I don’t want you to answer. I don’t want you to crush my heart even more.
“I don’t know. I wish I would know,” you sound as if you are crying now and I long to hold you. I don’t want to make you miserable. I want to make you happy. I don’t want to make you sad. I want to bring you joy. But I am not ready to let go. Not yet. I let go of too many things lately. You are not one of them. I refuse to let you be one of them.
“Can I come home?” Your question pierces through my thoughts, and I don’t know what to say. I smile – no, grin – I want to say so many things, but there is a big lump in my throat, and it prevents the words to roll off my tongue. Not even a sound comes out. I panic. What if you take my silence as a ‘no’? You clear your throat while I still struggle to make a sound. Tears wet my cheeks. Happy tears, because you are coming back. Soon. It won’t be like it used to be and I know that. Everything will change between us, and yet, I crave your touch and your kiss. I need you to take me into your arms and pet my hair gently. I like it when I lean my head against your shoulder, and your hand racks through the lengths of my hair. It soothes me.
“Yes,” I finally croak.
Before anything else can be said, you are gone. There’s only the familiar sound audible. Disconnection. I look at the phone as if it could answer all those unasked questions. What happened? Where are you? The beep sounds mocking, and I put the phone face down on my the nightstand. What did I do? 
I rub my face with my hands. So much drama over nothing. But how am I supposed to make your creativity come back? There is nothing I can do.
Not even five minutes later, I hear your key in the lock of the front door. I run my hands through my hair, to flatten it a bit. It’s a silly move, but it makes me believe, that I look much better now than before. I wait. Patiently. Nervously. The bedroom door opens, and you are back.
You sit on the bed, wringing your hands, looking down at your feet. They are naked. I come closer to you. Putting a kiss on your shoulder, resting my head on it.
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t give up on me. Not yet.” I whisper, and you turn in my arms. Together, we curl up in a ball under the sheets. You are still dressed. It doesn’t matter. You are back. You put his head on my chest and listen to my heartbeat. I kiss your head. Our fingers entwine, and we stay silent. Eventually falling asleep like this. Nothing is as it was before. It will never be the same, but which direction it all will go – I don’t know. In my heart, I know that you are not back for good. Someday soon, you will be gone. And I will be alone.