Yesterday's rain (watering down memories)

Pain makes man think. Thought makes man wise. Wisdom makes life endurable. ~ John Patrick

You've got to make a conscious choice every day to shed the old - whatever 'the old' means for you. ~ Sarah Ban Breathnach

The scent of bathing grass and dust disturbed by water hits my nostrils. I open the window wider and inhale deeper, savoring the relief brought by rain. I close my eyes and a subtle tune wakes my thinking.

…I've seen your flag on the marble arch,
But love is not a victory march,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…

I used to make a step ahead and two back. Why did you hold on to me for so long? When was it, the moment you won over the control that I thought was mine? Was it the morning you wrote to say I was the first thought of your day? Was it the afternoon you yelled about your feeling out loud, making the world hear, making me blush and finally believe you? Was it the sunset on that violet hill, the one I naively imagined to be ours, until a simple note on the wall told me the opposite? I chose to close my eyes and pretend, for the longest time, that I saw a bad dream. I ran away and cried that night, but when you found me red-eyed, I lied about the cause of my tears. I shielded myself from the obvious for too long, fearing the pain it would bring. I let it in slowly, one day at a time, as if giving my body a chance to build up defense against your poison, as if letting my mind come to terms with the bitterness of it. How symbolic, I thought, when they closed our hangout place. I knew it was time for me to leave, long before I had the guts to do so.

…Well, maybe there's a God above,
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…
It's not a cry that you hear at night,
It's not somebody who's seen the light,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…

I have written a short story, and it’s the first one I have ever finished. Short of inspiration, you were the cause of it. See, inspiration is too good of a word to be in one sentence with you. I have been debating for the longest time between posting it and not, and it’s still in the "not" stage. I don’t think I am ready quite yet, because I still remember.

........................................
…And the holy dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was hallelujah…

I make two steps ahead and one back now, or maybe only half back. This summer has been cleansing, just like that rain. It’s slowly washing away every thought of you, every idea of “us.” It’s been a long time and I think I am ready to feel again.

Please, let me go now.

Currently listening: Chasing Pavements by Adele

Before Sunrise

I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt.

- Celine in Before Sunrise

I was standing outside last night, looking at the man on the moon. An insignificant spot on the face of eternity, he’s larger than us in some ways... smaller in so many others. I was looking at a swallow’s nest over my porch. I’m not sure how long it’s been there but the birds are long gone. They must have flown away to a better place, carrying their dreams on their wings, leaving my porch with an empty nest. My dreamless porch.

I am doing better at times. I think my mind is ready to move on, telling me there’s no reason to cry over someone who doesn’t care. But the pain still wakes me up in the middle of the night, every night.

I look back at this summer. There is a strong temptation to forget certain people, moments or days; but I don’t give in to it. It might be good to not have lived some of those days, but would it be right? I believe our mistakes are there for a reason. They remind us of our human flaws. They help us grow.

I look back at the day of the big fight, when I stood up for your right to take the opposite side and, as a result, lost my friend. There is another painful memory from that night, that of you slamming the car door and walking away. But you know, I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn’t skip that evening even if I knew what was coming. I wouldn’t try to save my friendship. I wouldn’t stop you from walking away. Because when you caught up with me at a stoplight a minute later, you told me that you loved me. I will eventually forget the tremendous negativity of that night, but I will treasure the fact that you and I were able to leave it all behind so easily, driving away into the night.

I look back even further and I see us in a friend’s garage at 7 a.m. in the morning, after just talking the night away. I see us going through a car wash twice, enjoying the little streams rolling down the windows in this rainless land, lowering the backs of our seats to lay down and listen to some quiet music, savoring the simple bliss of the moment. I see us walking through the farmer’s market closer to noon, without a single hour of sleep the night before but with our reflections still fresh and clear in each other’s eyes. You carrying the fruits for me. Your smile a reflection of a morning sun. I see us in your room, going though your family photographs. Your books. Your paintings. You making hot dogs in the kitchen. Me drinking juice from the bottle. You had no cups. You lying on the floor in an empty room, looking at the sun caught in the texture of my dress as I stand in the doorway. That dress looked tired of your witty remarks over the last 24 hours. I wasn’t. Remember? Us sitting on a staircase in your hallway, speaking about the meaning of life. You handing me a book to take home with me. You waving goodbye to me on my way out, then rushing down the staircase to give me a hug. One perfect hug. My hand shaking behind your back holding the heavy fruits. You releasing me just to ease my burden. Our shadows crossing one last time on the pavement, one unwilling to leave, another unwilling to let go.

That was our own Before Sunrise, wasn’t it. That night was the whole world, the perfect world in which we had lived and breathed each other before the real life began. Before your friends didn’t get along with mine. Before I pushed you away. Before your heart grew cold, unwilling to forgive my fear of love. I think it will take me years to get over that one night, an eternity to forget the perfect fusion of our thoughts, ideas, feelings and dreams.

I don’t want to remember anything else from this summer.

In between

I found two great friends this summer. One corrupts me. Another one tries to save my soul.

One tempts me with new experiences, unconditional freedom and the joy of surpassing conventional wisdom. Another one refuses to repeat any irrational ways of mine but does not judge me either.

I sense animosity between them. Each one thinks of the other as an extreme, and I am caught in the crossfire.

I need both of them very much. I grew so close to them, I care for both, each one gives me comfort that only a good long-time friend can give, and I feel I can keep my balance as long as I have them both in my life. But I also feel that the darker side is so much easier to fall to. I would like to go there, it seems, stay for just a little, and then come back. When I look that direction, however, I don’t see a turning point. I try to stay on the safe side, but I easily get bored.

I believe people don’t have to adjust their characters in order to be good friends. Minor improvements are good; becoming something you are not isn’t. I feel like I need to stay where I am, in the middle, and I hope it won’t cause losing any of them. I need some moral incentives though, and I need them bad.

Friends who are

It’s how we treat people around us that they will treat us back. It’s how much we really care about their responses to our questions that they will open up to us. It’s how close to our hearts we let them that they will let us to theirs.

I am so happy to lend you an ear, my friend, even if you won’t shut up for hours :) I learned more about you last night than I know about myself, it seems. You are worth every minute of it though, because it’s you I run to when I need to get heard.

Blame it on summer

Summer to me means a lot of linen, which I love to wear but hate ironing. It also means swimming pools, the smell of sunscreen, colorful flip flops and chatting with girls in one of the sidewalk cafés, enjoying the warm wind’s kisses on our cheeks.

Summer brings an excuse to take random candid photos “just because it’s nice outside” and to stay up late “just to listen to birds chirp at dawn.”

Leaning back leisurely and watching people pass by the coffee house window counts as a viable activity in summer. Sitting inside – be it an office or a home – while the sun is burning holes in the pavement counts as a crime on my heart’s watch.

I blame it on the season when social ties seem to become of utter importance, overshadowing other, more serious (who said?) things in life. I think it is completely the summer’s fault when my heart and mind suddenly decide to walk in opposite directions, pulling me apart persistently, with the heart scoring points toward victory two thirds of the time.

One of these warm summer nights brought a fight between me and you, one of my best friends. I don’t really want to know at this point whether it was our foolish youth running through out veins, a couple of beers or a mere misunderstanding fueled by a thing or two left unsaid. Let’s just blame it on this hot season and the overdose of emotions it throws at us, breaking the weak defense that is out reason.

When I saw you through one of those coffee house windows parking your bike at the curb, I thought it was meant for us to make up today. Why else would summer want us to run into each other like that in a city with abundance of places to go lick our wounds?

I put my pride somewhere deep in the back pocket and I came to you, my hands shaking, trying not to let go of some fair trade sugar I just grabbed. I apologized although I didn’t feel like I deserved your negative attitude. Would you come to my table, I asked, if I didn’t approach you first? No, you said proudly. I felt that you were unfair to me and our friendship and I thought that you, the older one of us two, should have acted more mature. I was angry inside yet I could not afford to lose you. The thought of this summer without you crept into the back of my mind as you were standing in front of me, paying for your coffee. I was scared to death that you’d turn around and walk past me, throwing our friendship away coldheartedly. I pictured bumping into each other awkwardly in little downtown restaurants and trying to share friends most of which we had in common. I saw the boring pool parties without you, that bottle of Sangria I bought to share with you left unopened, tedious shopping trips with other less fashionable friends and not having you on the phone late at night to laugh about our latest girly adventures. I was afraid of not being able to see you across the table from me – like tonight – leaning toward each other to share happenings at work, our sappy memories, grown-up dreams and random things like those few lines from your book on the history of rock.

It would be my last attempt to approach you, I knew, and you must have felt it. Which one is my table, you asked, following me. You accepted my explanation, and deep in my heart I felt that you were sorry too, although you wouldn’t say it. As we walked out onto the sleepy summer street after chatting for hours, you said you wanted to see me tomorrow. You pulled me closer, hugged me and kissed me, and in my mind I answered, “Don’t worry about saying a thing, my friend, because I already know.” I smiled, turned around and felt a touch of that playful warm wind on my face. It felt like summer.

On the same page

We talked last night, opening our hearts to each other.

The world span around you and me, our friends’ chatter and screeching of passing cars silenced by our voices, the city pausing for a moment in a small quiet alley to listen to our hearts find a common beat.

We were throwing passionate words at each other, catching them in midair, fascinated by the similarity of our thoughts, by the tragic beauty of the situation, by the light summer breeze tickling our minds, making them lightweight.

You and I have found a perfect world in each other’s arms, a world so full of life, beauty, laughter, new acquaintances and old long-lasting bonds. Our paths intertwined so quickly, every piece of the puzzle falling into place so perfectly, your friends and mine, art, music, humor, walks, sleepless nights, turning crazy ideas into life… and the rain.

Our world is meant to end abruptly one day and — aware of that — we leave no time for arguments, jealousy, misunderstanding. I wonder if any relationship would be this perfect if two people always acted as if there were no tomorrow, with only today being theirs to enjoy and live to the fullest. One perfect day at a time.

Friends and lovers

You came into my life like a light summer rain. You washed away my troubles and you helped me become myself again.

I wish this beautiful summer romance never had to end, but even knowing that it will, I am eager to take the most out of it, savoring every moment with you, every moment of you.

We have 12 days to do as we please, no regrets, no looking back, no prying into the future.

Thanks for showing up in my life and thanks for being so wonderful.