Love in two tones (L’amour en 2 temps)

1st Tone

I’m thinking about all this emptiness. You, me, us or her.

I don’t know who I am and I don’t need to figure it out. I know you, that’s enough. Right now I just want to continue to breathe a little, not too much, just enough to live by your side. Today I’d like to tell you that I love you. I pictured how I’d feel if I woke up and you had decided not to be part of my life. Salted tears in my eyes.

I have no idea what I’d do if you left me. This is ridiculous, I no longer live for myself, but through you. If you disappeared I would cease to exist. It sounds cheesy, I know, but I swear I would turn into a vegetable like the ones you buy at the market on a Friday morning.

Please, don’t go away.

When you are not here, I can’t see anything; I’m in the dark. When finally you come back, listening to your voice simply carries me with you. You know, it’s almost like before I met you, I had lived in the murk. One day you pushed the door and turned the light on. You observed me. I was sitting alone in a corner and you smiled. You came closer and I held your hand. Gradually the black and white dots around me mutated. I saw yellow, green, red. It was ethereal, magical, insane. All the shades revolved throughout me. I could touch them with my fingers. It was like I was attracted by a totally unreal magnetism, falling into a tangible kaleidoscope of colours through which I could finally feel something beating in my chest.

All the time I thought this was what love was about; to have close to you that person who brings light.

2nd Tone

I’d like to type on my keyboard without thinking. Just to be guided by the stream of words splashing all over my face. This crazy waltz is giving me vertigo and forcing me to stop. Evils overwhelm me like dissonant words without meaning: “I love you.”  Silent melody, I keep hearing. I die.

I’m now close to the canal. We use to come here. I always hated this place. I’m watching the water. It challenges me, your face emerging far and wide in its reflections. It’s calling me.

A man speaks to me. What does he want? Everything seems foggy. I see his lips moving, but I don’t understand what he’s saying. I feel his hand on my arm. I cannot fight, I follow him. I’m now sitting on a bench. This guy is still there, staring at me. He probably thinks I’m pitiful, alone. An inconsolable vegetable. The beating in my chest resounds in my head. It reminds me that I am still breathing. I suffocate.

I look up and see all those smiling faces, extending to joined hands. I’m silently dreaming of feeling your body under my fingers. A child stumbles in front of me, he is sobbing. I share his pain; it’s piercing me. My cheeks are wet.

What am I doing in the middle of the street, I thought I was sitting?

The day you left me I was sure I’d never get over it. Well, not exactly. I was at the same time reassured that you would not be the last. I told myself that I could still have sex with other women. It sounds so wrong. As if in the end, I was on this earth to collect and fuck her or her.

What we went through was intense, stunning, breath-taking. It was the kinds of moments one sees only in the first days, weeks or months before everything fades and the excitement gives way to a cruel routine.

It was idyllic.

You made me believe that it was possible. I grabbed your hand and followed you blindly. How could I have been so gullible?

Now, I am stuck in that messy room, very close to that dirty window, very close to the emptiness, and I cannot stop asking myself how come I could have been again so credulous.

I should have remembered that always, sooner or later, night falls.

Gustav_Klimt_046

Thank you to Caitríona for the re-reading.

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