A conversation

I see you got married.

That’s right, I did.

You look happy.

I am.

You even wore a fucking pink dress.

What are you so angry about?

What am I so angry about? Really? You betrayed everything that we are, and you’re asking me why I’m angry?

Look, I don’t expect you to get it. And there isn’t a ‘we’ anymore. There hasn’t been for a while.

Of course, I forgot you stopped giving a shit about me.

It’s not that I don’t give a shit about you, it’s just we’re so different now.

I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.

Well, you’re probably right, you don’t know me.

I just can’t believe you would throw everything away. Everything I created.

Everything you created? What did you actually create? You are a master of destruction. I only started to create something after I walked away from you.

Hah, you’re still stubborn, at least that didn’t change. We had big plans. And you ruined it. You ruined everything.

Oh really? I ruined your big plan? What was that big plan again.. oh that’s right, you were going to hang around for someone who wasn’t yours, push everyone away, and keep looking for the next place and person. I don’t want that life.

But you did.

Not anymore.

You sound upset. Are you angry at me?

I guess I am.

Why?

For being so stupid.

And I’m angry at you.

Why?

For forgetting me.

I didn’t forget you. I can never forget you. You were a big part of my life.

Then how come we don’t talk anymore?

Because, I don’t want your influence.

And I didn’t want your influence, but that didn’t stop you, did it?

Things are better now. I love my life. Having you around would just ruin it for me.

You don’t get it do you?

What?

Your life is great now because of me. I dated the people that weren’t meant for you. I lived in cities that weren’t right for you. I took that shot and inhaled that smoke so that you don’t have to. Your life is a direct result of mine. And instead of thanking me for your life, all you do is ignore me and pretend I don’t exist. Guess what, I do exist. I’m there every time you look into the mirror. You can’t escape me.

I get it. You’re right, I owe you a thank you, and an apology. I’m sorry I’ve been pretending you never existed. Thank you for not loving your life, so that I could love mine.

Thank you, I appreciate you saying that. Look, I’m not here to bother you. I’m glad you’re happy, I really am. A part of me always wanted this for us.

I know.

Can I tell you something else?

Sure.

I always knew we’d look good in pink.

(A conversation with my past self)

woman-looking-in-mirror

We Are Meant To Be, For the Weekend

I found this piece of writing about a past lover while digging through old files. Surprisingly, I’ve never shared it, so I’m sharing it now. I love the sentiment in which it’s written. Let me know what you think.

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I don’t ask who you were talking to on the phone. I don’t ask about the unopened gift box on the table – who is it for, or who is it from. I don’t ask you anything, except for the occasional ‘Are you hungry’ There’s really no point in asking, no point in knowing. What does it matter to me how you spend your time or who you spend it with? I am only here to keep you company, and I do exactly that – not more.

I lay in your arms, all curled up like a ball. You smile at me and say I look like a tiny kitten. You kiss my forehead and begin to tell me a story. This one is about a boy who goes out in search of his dreams. He has to go through many obstacles and follow the signs to get to his dreams. You tell me about ‘maktub’ and how it’s an Arabic saying for ‘it is written’. You explain that everything has been written and is meant to happen as it is. I wonder if you know what’s written for you and me, but I don’t ask, of course.

I love the sound of your voice, the way your accent makes everything sound sensual. How you casually drop French words into your conversation. You must know the effect it has on me. I especially love how your eyes light up when you tell stories. And how you paint such vivid pictures when you describe the people you knew and the places you visited. Even when you talk about your past lovers. You refer to them with immense affection and adoration. I can’t help but wonder if you would ever talk about me in such a way – even if we were never lovers.

You notice that I’m deep in thought, and ask if I’m tired of listening to your stories. I flash my best smile at you and reassure you I never get tired of your stories and that I love listening to you. You smile again and I suddenly have this urge to kiss you. I act on it, but only halfway, leaning towards you and planting a quick peck on your left cheeks.  You don’t ask me what I’m thinking about. Just like I never ask you.

I close my eyes and allow myself to relax, resting my head on your shoulders. Something builds up inside me and I am forced to blurt it out. ‘Will you miss me?, I ask. I know I shouldn’t ask, but sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me. ‘Of course’, you say, planting a reassuring kiss on my forehead. I don’t know if it’s true, and it doesn’t matter. It’s what I want to hear, and I’m happy to hear it.

That’s how it is. You say things I want to hear, and I do the same to you. We don’t talk about feelings or unresolved matters. We don’t even acknowledge them. We live in our own bubble world where there’s no need for questions or answers. No plans, no promises, no expectations. No rules, no ifs, no buts. We just are. We exist only in this moment, and we don’t go anywhere near the ‘next’ moment. The future doesn’t exist as far as we’re concerned.

We spend most of the time cracking jokes and laughing at ourselves. We make fun of movies.  We make funny sounds and imitate people’s accents. We watch funny cat videos and South park re-runs. We talk about Greek mythology and Spanish bullfighting and World War Two. We go out to bars and try all the drinks on the menu. We sing out loud on the streets. We go for dinners, too, but never anywhere that has a dress code. We enjoy the mere pleasure of each other’s company, without giving a thought as to where it will lead to.

Sometimes I see loneliness in your eyes, and I’m sure you see sadness in mine. But we never talk about it. I cannot make you less lonely, and you cannot make me less sad. I never aspire to be what you want, and you can never be what I need. I will not give you my heart, nor will I take yours. So we just be. Without thinking. Without trying. Without discussion. Tomorrow the sun will come up and we both will go our separate ways.

woman

Of Fries And the Man I Can’t Write About Part I

For the first time, I’m finding it difficult to write.

I don’t think there are words in the English dictionary to describe the magic I experienced during these past two weeks. See, I just used the word magic but it’s still not the right word to capture what I want to say.

But it was magical. A dream. A fantasy. Alice in Wonderland without the scary bits. Narnia without the killing or dying.

In fact, I don’t even know if I want to write about it. I am afraid it might lose its magic if I reduce it to words on a computer screen. I am afraid I might kill its purity by attaching it to adjectives. It’s like a special place that I can escape to whenever I want – a sanctuary for my head. I don’t know if I am ready to bring it out of my head and into the world.

And even if I did want to write about it, I still don’t know if I could find the words. How would I describe his soft blonde hair. Or those curious blue eyes and how they turned grey sometimes. Or that playful smile. Or how his eyes light up whenever he saw me. Or how adorable it was when he struggled to find the correct English word. Or how he hated it when I call him le mignon, which made him even more mignon.

Then, as if it’s not already difficult to write about him, I also have to find a way to relate this whole experience back to fries?! I’m completely at a lost for words and metaphors here!

BUT for the love of this blog, and for all my readers, I promise to try and put the words together and share my experience with you guys in the next post.

Come back here for more Fries and Men 😉

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