About a feeling

You came to me  in apathy, a stranger, and you brought with you a multicoloured palette to paint this town a bit more bearable.  A lot more bearable, who am I kidding.  You came to me in great sadness.  My heart wasn’t fully mended yet,  I always took care of that on my own before, you see.  There you were before me, with such novel kindness in your every word and move.   I succumbed.

I had been mourning scenery, faces, bridges, and cities, far away from here.

You understood.

You long for those places too.  Your blue eyes glistened as you spoke about that little town in the North of England, and then of Valladolid.  You took me on a trip to parts of this world where I’ve never been before that rainy night in August.  I saw it all so vividly in my head, making up landmark arrangements and inventing the traits of the characters that were part of your stories.

You came to me when I felt like I had absolutely nothing to offer to another human being.  You see, I was bent, and emptied of all vulnerability I used to be capable of.  But you noticed that, and you waited patiently, without the pressure of time, without apprehension.

You came to me in a time when I thought stories like these only happened in novels filled with sentimentality.   You brought with you everything that the ones who have come before you didn’t have to give. Giving yourself selflessly.   It felt strange.  You triggered such rawness out of me, that I never knew I was capable of before you came.  The many states of me, that I used to be worried would never be known by people before you, just manifest themselves so easily.

And then there was ease.  There was ease in the nothingness and in the longing.  There was ease in the way I saw this place,  and all my struggles.  A lightness I haven’t felt around another human being in years, if ever.  A lightness that can only exist in the presence of everything a human being is:   his neurosis, psychosis, conquests, defeats, history, heartbreak, silliness, great ideas, idiocy.  His entire vulnerable form.

You made me conscious of the beauty that remains, even in rock bottom.

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One Comment Add yours

  1. himself says:

    You know, I hate to comment and like a lot like a stalker, a stupid one. But you really speak of somethings I wish I can speak of. Either because I am not as much of a good writer in english yet, and because they never happen to me. I just wish you truely lived this and felt it. I also with that you could still smile when you remeber it. I know I. Smiled, I got goosebumps…

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