It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....
15.01.2011 - 31.01.2011 4 °C
Confession: my return from Milan wasn't quite as smooth as it should have been. The day after I arrived, I get a txt inquiring whether I got home safely. I should've written when I got back but I didnt. I reply and ask if all is well. Nothing. The next day I send over a text. Nothing. Following day I call. It rings. Nothing. What's going on? After an hour I'm surprisingly on the edge for no real reason except for the lack of response. I don't remember how this shit goes anymore. "Even Sarkozy hez time to go to deh gym or to make eh phone-koll", my aunt said. She was right. How could I argue? What could I say in defense? Nothing.
We headed to Deauville for some fresh sea air. My mind was still somewhere else and it pissed me off that after all the stuff of the last 10 months I found myself involved in the same bullshit. I damn well should have learned by now. But for the first time ever, I freaked out and later understood why.
After hearty meals, retail therapy and long walks on the beach - oh yes, and sleeping the night like a Bedouin on the hotel floor by the door with the soft pillows and blanket under & around me as a result of poor sleep quality (snoring 20 cm from me is not someting I can ignore), we headed back to Paris. The clouds were tightly snuggled around the city skies.
Monday comes. New week, new opportunity, new perspective. After a motivational chat (no, not my aunt this time), I pick up the phone and try again. A voice says he'll call me back. He does. Claimed I disappeared as well and when I waved the text and call in my defense, he asked 'what call?' He was sleeping, never got a call. Okay, things have happened before. It could happen. But I havent decided whether I chose to believe it or not. The conversation was excellent by all means and included future plans and big kisses. The Italian way.
I have to say though that I've decided to take two steps back and one step forward onto a new path: relaxing and staying cool. It's not as easy at it sounds. This is a whole new ball game for me. I like but not in love (should I be?) I'm used to being spun around, flipped sideways, rolled inside out, captured by the heart and torn by miles of land and sea that I eventually give in to and cross to be with the one I love as I've done once before. And here I am. With "like". And rationality. And geographical distance between us that makes it safe terrain. And realistic worries I would have never considered one year earlier with someone else. When I'm with, I'm intellectually stimulated like wlith no other, intrigued and enjoying myself as I haven't in a very long time. Everything pauses completely. And when I'm back, I'm in my life. Maybe being madly love is not sane. So why does being realistic and simply liking someone feel uncomfortable? As if it's not enough, as if something more is supposed to be there. Why is it considered being in love when we feel our stomachs turning and twisting? It's a physical reaction but scientifically, it doesn't last. Am I making sense?
I shouldn't have to run to a place where I'm not ready to be caught in the storm. But on the other, I want to be - that chemical surge of energy running through you is what makes you feel alive dammit. [Funny enough, Mr. Latin America shows up on my Skype screen now - no chemical surge there but annoyance and a bunch of question marks--> WTF??]
This is life in Loverville. A tale of two cities, Paris and Milan. Two completely different places, seemingly occuring in completely different time zones. Parallel to one another but absolutely nothing in common. An affair with different objects of affection. It is I and Paris playing games, yes and no, enticing me but something never really happening just yet (apart from de-Lille-icious flirtation) and then in Milan, it is a big village to me, another life. It is just he and I for hours on end - one who touches, feels and whom I enjoy thoroughly and absolutely in its own time when there. Which one prevails? Only time will tell.
It's all about the journey; not the destination. So, with two lovers (ok, if you dont count Lille) one double bed, and a list full of TO-DOs I venture into this crazy journey I call my life.
Some day, very soon, I will write from my new bed, in my new room, in my new apt that I will call home for a little while.