So I went back to office, back to the real world– back to my job.
Well, I can’t stay there with her forever, now can I ?
Although I do wish that I could.
I have this one particular co-worker.
He’s a little bit, eccentric, you could say– sensitive to his surroundings.
When I got back, after I met her, I went straight to the office from the airport.
And he was there, reading a book, and listening to a certain music.
I threw my jacket, put down my bag, and sat beside him.
“Well how was it ?”
“It was shit. A total shit.”
“You mean everything went better than expected and you want to go back.”
I did tell him some stories about her and about me going to meet her and such.
He actually told me that I need to ‘clear some things up’ while I’m at it.
Well, did I actually clear some things up with her?
I actually think I did.
“Tell me the story. Did you met her?”
“Although I’m not pretty sure what happened.”
“We had dinner, we watched a show together, we talked about a lot of things, as if we were trying to catch up after 1.5 years of not seeing each other.”
“And.. I did say that I love her, right in front of her face.”
“The answer was as expected, she said that she doesn’t want to think about getting in a relationship, not while she’s not yet settled nor stable.”
“And, you know, I actually felt so fine about it. No resentment, no anger. No.”
“What’s more, I also put some sense into her by saying that moving and loving someone are two different things, which, I know you’ll get the meaning.”
“You know, I even told her that you actually put her as a ball and chain for me.”
“But her place is not there. I think you know where.”
He smiled and nodded several times.
“There’s a reason why I put her as a ball and chain.”
“I have a theory, but it ends with a question and you have to answer it.”
“I actually am not really interested in the story of what were you actually doing with her during the time you meet her and all. I’m interested in something else.”
“Before I continue, tell me the story when you actually met her again.”
“I was reading a book, in an outdoor mall square and such, waiting for her.”
“I told her where I was, and what I was doing.”
“And of course she showed up.”
“What was it like?”
“I’ve been in your position once.”
“I know how it feels like to love someone, to have someone as your weakness, to be vulnerable to someone, to have someone as your undoing. Or to say it in a nerd way: to have someone as your goddamn kryptonite and be perfectly fine with it.”
“Let me tell you that it was decided in the way you look at someone after you haven’t seen them in years.”
“So, what happened after you saw her? Did you put your head down and smile just a little bit? Did you cry? Did you look at her and smile for no reason?”
“Because, when you actually put your head down, well, I think you don’t really love her. I think it’s a sign that the love is actually diminished, or even gone.”
“So? Are you done with her? Or is her place in you really is not at your feet as a ball and chain, but in your heart as you said to me before?”
I was sitting beside a certain fountain in an outdoor district square, reading Hemingway’s Farewell To Arms, and waiting for her.
I was lost in my own thoughts, with my hearts slightly racing, all did under the loud crowd noises and the strong smell of Chlorine.
Unable to concentrate with my book, I was trying to find something that I could do or say the first thing when I saw her later that day.
I took out my phone, and put Bach’s Cantata BWV 208 with almost full volume.
After few movements without any conclusion on what should I do, she showed up.
She waved her hand in front of my face between me and my books.
It took me second good look at her to convince myself that it was real.
The second time I looked at her, I froze in place, standing, looking at her.
That same voice, that same face, that same small body of hers.
I remember that I smiled like an idiot in front of her that day.
And, all she could muster out of her lips was:
“What is it? Come on, let’s go!”
If only she knew how beautiful she was that day.
“I think I’m screwed.”
“I did make a stupid smiling face in front of her while looking at her.”
He smiled, nodded again several times, and handed me a pen.
“It’s your time to write about it.”
I took the pen, back to my table, took one of my books, and started to write.
…. After looking at her, I’ve realized that, right now, it’s all about her …