Him — Modern Love Letters
After all these years...
I can still feel his perfume, while he is explaining, in the most rational way he can (after so much weed and beer), that he has to leave.
Just like I can still hear his voice banging in my years, when, it’s precisely one year later, and we’re having our final goodbye at the train station.
This time he’s sober and he‘s telling me how much he loves me.
Over and over and over again.
This dude, with the most beautiful name you could think of.
One that feels like the cold winds of winter. Those winds that come undone, unannounced, from a distant land in the far East.
Those winds can send you to hypothermia, should they catch you unguarded. But you still love them, because they make you really feel how powerful nature can be, in all its beauty, wildness and rawness.
That name reminds me of a place, somewhere far away, untouched by societal expectations, all the comforts and cozy bullshits.
His name on my lips, was the only thing that made sense, for a while.
You know…I fucking hate society with its humans and their compulsory need to suck up to anyone, as long as they’re guaranteed a minimum piece of comfort in their pathetic life.
He isn’t like that.
He is just a human being which I could’ve loved till the end of time. And, basically, I did just that, I loved him till the end of our time.
I loved pieces of him, but also I loved him as a whole.
I loved his voice, his sense of humor, his dark eyes, his hands and his perfume, his eloquence and grammar, his music, later on I even loved his tattoo, I loved his friends, his family and his home.
And I loved his thoughts; I loved how raw he was — in and out.
I loved his kisses, I loved his honesty, I loved that he couldn’t give two shits about others, but, at the same time, he had the most caring soul.
I loved how he saw me and knew exactly what he wanted. I love the way he fights for everything, I love how he always ends up on his feet, I love his maturity and the child inside him.
I love how he is not beautiful, in the truest sense of the word, but he is so beautiful in my eyes.
I love the way power and anger make love inside him and bring up exactly what he is.
I often called him “creature”, because I couldn’t grasp around the fact that a human being could be that wonderful, that amazing.
It’s almost impossible for me to explain this wonderful human being, which I had the good fortune of meeting.
My sea, from the only summer without the sea.
Let’s just say, that he is the most awesome guitar solo you will ever witness, the most touching notes of blues, the most erotic tango, the most well written poem.
He is strong. And beautiful. I think he always feels his heart beatings and the speed of his blood, pumping inside him.
He feels the sidewalk melting and the sky getting closer. He is the only one that really knows how to appreciate the beauty of the world.
He allowed me to walk inside him, such a complex creature made room in his heart for me, a small cupcake, just because…just because he is that kind of creature.
I’m certain this guy which can change the world, if he wants to.
But he doesn’t care about that. He can find solace in anything. He can fight anything. Overcome anything.
There are two types of love.
You either love yourself, ergo; you fall in love with people like you, people with whom you can share a beer, a chat, a smoke.
Or, you love people different from you, people who are everything you’ve ever hoped of being.
I think the second one is purer. And harder.
It’s hard to admit you have flaws and that other person might be better than you.
I love(d) him for being like me, for hating the same things, for appreciating the same things. To the core, we were the same. But, he had more guts, than me.
More ambition. More love.
Honestly, at this point I just wish Bukowski could’ve written a poem about him.
Blood. Fire. And pain.