I never recovered from losing him
A page in the diary "Good mourning!"
Written by Luise 24. May 2008 03:27 AM
It's two years now since I've met him. When we first met, he seemed to me just a boring someone with a french accent who's hair started getting thin on his forehead.
But I fell so deeply in love. It began like a fairy tale, slowly and carefully we started getting friends. He was my shoulder to lean on. My soulmate. Once in our first days, we went to the baker early in the morning, and he paid all the food and as I wanted to give him my part of the money, he just said: Hey, don't worry. You are my family now. It was just exactly what I had wished for so long. Someone who wants to be my family. Someone who wants to be close to me.
He was so beautiful. I loved his upper arms and his smell. For a certain time we were like conjoined twins. I could not imagine not sleeping close to him, with his smell in my nose. He was so beautiful, and he was so...thankful to be with me. For a while it really seemed as everyone of us had found what they were looking for. He, the adventurer, had found a calmer and softer part of himself. And I? I had found my sandbox mate. Somebody to play with, somebody who liked my jokes, who understood me without even talking, whom I could give the rest of my food in restaurants, whom I could teach and who could teach me, with whom I could share music and philosophy. He was like a mirror who showed me the child within myself, and everytime I looked at him I saw what a beautiful person I was and how much he liked me.
Something that happened so many times to me is: I fall asleep in my bed in the afternoon. Just for 15 minutes. I wake up sleepy and confused, and for a second, just for a sec, I imagine to be in Santiago again, in that little hotel room where we had an afternoon nap every day after our long walk. I imagine him beside me, so close that I can smell him and just stretch out my hand to touch him. He is sleeping calmly. So I just wrap my arm around him, my nose somewhere in his T-shirt, and continue to sleep for a little, little while.
After our "siestas" we used to smoke. Sometimes we had sex. Sometimes one of us cried because we both knew that we would have to separate soon. After smoking/sex/crying we usually went outside to eat something and meet some friends. It was hot in Santiago in these days, and the city was surrounded by black smoke from forest fires. Santiago is a city built from old stones, and all the stones reflected the heat of the sun. It was just warm and comfortable, we had walked 1400 kms together, after some difficult times life was peaceful again, we were tired, happy and felt like winners.
The pain of having lost him is still as intensive as if it had happened yesterday. For weeks I function almost normal and deal with life as good as possible, and then, bang!, it's like a storm blowing me away and I'm nothing but desperation and tears, just because I WILL SEE THIS BEAUTIFUL CHILD NEVER AGAIN.