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Hey all,
I've met my twin soul a bit more than three years ago, and I will share with you my love story in several entries. I used to identify myself with INFP and I believe she behaves as an INFJ. It's a bit long, but I believe it's worth sharing. I've written only the first few chapters, and will continue writing it fast or slowly, depending on my inspiration.
The dream
It all started when I was fourteen and I made a dream
The most striking dream of my life
So strong that I somehow knew waking up that it must be real, that it was actually real
In that dream, a girl was holding me and I was holding her, all our force clenched in this embrace
And it felt like the most perfect and complete embrace that could exist on earth
In her arms I felt entirely at peace, entirely accepted for who I truly am, entirely loved
My schoolmates sniggering was in an instant blown away by this powerful wind
It didn’t matter if people didn’t like me, if they made fun of me because I was different, because I didn’t know how to behave like them, because I didn’t want to conform
It didn’t matter if I felt so lonely and misunderstood, if I had no real friend except my family
No, nothing mattered before the potency of this dream love
In that brief instant I understood there existed a love so deep and powerful it upheaved our existence
In that brief instant I knew that I had to find her no matter what
And I started looking for my dream girl everywhere
I somehow knew I would recognize her
Not because I would be physically attracted to her, no it had nothing to do with physical attraction
But because my heart would bleed and cry and dance when seeing her, when looking in her eyes
I knew it would be of an intensity that surpassed everything I witnessed around me
In my teen years, I sometimes was of a deeply melancholic state of mind, without knowing why, without realizing that it was unnatural for a young boy to be so thoughtful, to have such a brooding mood
The only thought that brought real sunshine and warmth to my life was that of meeting her
Each time I went to the New Year’s mass with my parents, I prayed to find her
And for long, long years I didn’t
There was no trace of her
Anywhere
With time, I overcame my natural shyness that when I was a teenager made me stutter with everyone around at school, so afraid was I of my peers’ judgmental eyes
I didn’t know how to speak in slang as everybody else, I wasn’t capable of chitchatting
Before speaking I had to prepare the sentences I would say in my mind beforehand
And each time I cursed my stupidity, how socially unfit I felt I was
Later, much later, I became much more at ease with myself when I understood that speaking with others was not an exam I had to pass, but more like a discussion to discover more about them, about their life experiences, about the secret book of their soul
I wanted to become a writer and so I knew I needed these interactions, and I started asking many questions, carefully listening to answers
And in few years I met many close friends, as many as I didn’t have in my entire life, and with each of them the relationship seemed meaningful to me
And yet, despite not being lonely anymore in the physical plane, I continued feeling this loneliness of the heart
I never dated with any girl because each time I would get to know someone from close I’d understand it wasn’t the right person for me
I would go out of my comfort zone, speaking to strangers out of the blue, in the library, in public transportation, each time I’d notice a beautiful face
For I believed that I would recognize her from her face
But each time I was disappointed, the whole did not feel right, they didn’t have the sensitivity I was looking for
Almost a decade passed until I met her…
--
The shadow
What’s missing in my story is the shadow
The shadow of my words and my feelings
The shadow of my teen years
These things about myself that I didn’t accept, that I didn’t want to show to the world, because I was too ashamed and afraid
Since my early teens, I’ve been attracted to slight weight gain in women
That was the window through which I lived my sexuality
I fantasized about girls I knew, or a girl of my imagination, eating more than she should and putting on a bit of weight
I imagined how she would feel when she had eaten too much, when for a long time she remained skinny despite overeating
How after a couple of months she’d start gaining a few pounds and her clothes would become slightly tighter
Then with time she’d take more weight and her clothes would become even tighter, three, five, seven kilograms
And then I’d fall asleep and my fantasy would stop
And it would start anew the next morning, or the next night before falling asleep, with the same skinny girl or another one
It helped me not to think, to forget for an instant all my anguishes, and it awakened my body like nothing else could
I imagined the girl body pressed against mine, her forms pushing into me
Or I imagined being within her body, witnessing her change, her widening shapes, her snug sensation at her lower belly
Later, I started reading stories on the net of girls who had inadvertently put on a bit of weight
Some complained about it, others liked it, others even planned to take on some weight
And I always carefully canceled the history of my research
What if my father or uncle found out about it? I would die of shame, of guilt
Normal sexuality never presented any interest for me
I never watched porn
In a way, it had become too widely accepted and crude, it was not something progressive or transgressive as it was perhaps for my parents
I was uncomfortable with the idea of naked bodies
And the few times I had tried to look out for such content over the net to reassure myself I was not abnormal, I had been disgusted
For those reasons, I never learnt to reach an orgasm on my own
All my pleasure consisted in my intellectual fantasies of slight weight gains
And they could go on for hours and hours sometimes, when I was bored during long winter afternoons with no good book in which I was engrossed
And when I had periods in which these thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone, I worried if I were normal, if I could ever live in a healthy relationship
Deep down I knew I could, but I failed at reconciling what I saw as two distinct parts of myself
Me, the sensitive boy enamored of words and nature and true love versus me who could only think of fattening girls for my own pleasure
I knew that the second part of me was more a fantasy than a reality, something that was not as strong as my passion and ideals
And yet it was ever present, and even when I managed to block it for few months it came back whenever I was sad or tired or slightly depressed by my studies
I soon learnt to use it, or drown on it, whenever I had too many exams, too much to study
For a while, I could forget about everything while living my fantasy
At that time, I discovered there actually were videos on the net of women and girls who had this same fantasy of mine and put on weight intentionally
And I started watching them, and found out that there was a thing called fetish, and that many people had fetishes of one sort or another, some much worse than mine that was only weird
And it reassured me slightly, even though it still was a weight on my heart, on my mind
Each thing on earth has a shadow
A shadow is not something real and tangible
It is here without being here
Its shape is ever shifting according to sun’s course
And whatever are the properties and qualities of this object
Its shadow is always graying, sometimes darkening
We too have a shadow
The shadow of our smiles and our dreams
The shadow of our hearts
An ill-defined shadow, and yet shadow it is
We cannot get rid of this shadow as long as we live on earth
But we can understand what hides in it
We can learn not to fear it
Clearly distinguishing the true object, the unchanging soul, from its deceptive, ever-changing shadow
At the end, shadow only is a bit of smoke that sticks to surfaces
Blow it away and let it not worry you
--
First encounter
I met her when I expected the least
I was participating to a halloween party in which I knew nobody
Because of this drive to meet the girl of my dream, I often went to parties even if I didn’t feel at ease there
And I went alone because most of my friends didn’t enjoy these rumorous places
And because I thought to myself that if I’d better be alone to be free of my movements, my words, if I met her
So I went to parties, three or four times a year, each time swearing to myself it was the last
I erred like a ghost there, barely drunk a beer, barely dared to dance, never met anyone
My relationship with my body had never been good
It’s not that I didn’t like it, but I felt too awkward, tense, stiff and I thought that other judged me on that
On not knowing how to dance, how to accost a group of persons with ease, on not behaving appropriately, in a cool fahionable confident way which eluded me entirely
So that night I wasn’t expecting much
As usual I’d walk around the night club, trying to catch a pretty girl’s eyes, but never daring to speak to anyone as they all were accompanied and never returned my gaze
I didn’t want to go, so engrossed was I in my reading, but forced myself to as I had bought a sailor hat for a disguise the week before
And so I went, got lost on my way, entered the place
And when I entered, I looked behind me and met her eyes
It was very brief, and I didn’t feel anything special
But she had looked at me in the eyes, and she was alone
I instantly told to myself, if you don’t speak to her right now, you won’t speak to anybody of the night shy as you are
So along the entrance corridor, I breathed deeply to gather my courage of speaking to a stranger and spun my head and greeted her
We started speaking of unremarkable things, the countries we were originary from, our respective fields of studies
As it was an erasmus party, we all were foreigners coming from different places
I didn’t think much of her at the time, and as we ordered a beer I was almost sure she would leave me to join her friends
Until we started discussing of our passions in life, and I discovered that she loved reading, and that her favorites were also mine
And then she told me her dream was writing a historical or fantasy novel
And I was speechless, and all what I could say was me too, me too, and I felt almost foolish in how I mirrored her replies to my questions
I had started writing a historical novel taking place in Lebanon the year before
And somehow I intuitively knew that my dream girl would love reading, and that she would be sensitive to writing too
But I didn’t know she would be a writer too
Who, like me, had chosen a field of study that had little to do with our strongest passion
I looked a lot into her eyes and felt at ease with her, even danced a little without feeling ridiculous, and we smiled a lot to each other
At first I had not found her pretty, I had even thought her face disharmonious
But as we started speaking about who we truly were the disharmony wiped away from her face and all what remained was beauty and intensity
She told me that she was writing about life changing encounters
And for the first time in a very long time I contemplated with myself the possibility of falling in love with someone, with her
And at that moment, she told me she had a boyfriend back in her home country
And I felt it was a cold shower on all my nascent hopes, and I felt frustrated by what I considered as an unfairness
What should the only girl I am genuinely interested in happen to be already engaged
And I left the party with little more than her full name and the vague promise that we might encounter each other again, or might not as the campus is very wide
--
Falling in love
During the next few days, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of the writer girl I had met at the Halloween party
I sent her one of my favorite short stories, the prisoner, and she sent me one of hers, the tale of an immortal character who wanted to be delivered from her immortality
And two weeks later we met again, for lunch under a bright November sun
And we spoke and spoke
It was mostly me asking questions and her telling me about her life, about the divorce of her parents when she was seven year old that had left her a deep wound, wiping off all her memories between seven and ten
And she told me how until a couple of years backward she had been a library rat spending all her time reading, barely socializing
And while she was speaking, I kept on asking myself who she truly was, and if she was the right person for me
After a while she abruptly decided she had to go study
But before that and to my surprise, she said that she had really enjoyed our time together and proposed to see each other at the same time the week after
For two other weeks in a row, we met, and each time I saw another facet of her personality
And I found it complicated to add up the different parts together
After the brightness of our first encounter, I had been slightly disappointed by her texts I had read, wondering if she was truly the writer she pretended to be
And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking to her, and waited anxiously for our short weekly meeting
The fourth week, she told me she was too busy with her studies to meet me
But I didn’t want to wait, she was an exchange student after all and would soon enough leave
And that convinced me to propose her to go out during the weekend, when before all our planned meetings had taken place within university context
But I was too afraid of being rejected to write her a direct, straight to the point message
Instead I wrote her a short fantasy story, an idea that had stemmed to my mind one night after attending a mass, something I rarely do
And to my surprise she replied in the same way and agreed to meet on Saturday evening
And we met, and again I was disappointed by the disharmony on her face that reflected harshness and preoccupation
But as she spoke and spoke about what mattered to her heart the most, the fire of passion shone into her eyes, and emotions softened her face
And suddenly she had the most beautiful face I had ever seen on earth
It was a strong and strange moment to see her and to see her reflection in the mirror close to her
At that moment, I understood that was her true face, when she was in harmony with herself, with her dream
And her face reminded me of something old, very old
And I could see myself too in her face
She broke that moment, proposing to go out from the café where we had been sitting
And once outside she told me my intensity put her ill at ease, and that my gaze and my prolonged eye contact intimidated her
We crossed the town toward its height where she lived, where I had never been
She told me of her fascination for large empty spaces, and how it bored her boyfriend when she spoke her impressions
It reassured me in a way, telling myself that he surely wasn’t the right person for her, and yet it saddened me for her
We climbed on spaced stairs on a narrow winding path
And I noticed she climbed very slowly
And for the first time I felt real tenderness for her
I felt all her vulnerability, and for the first time in my life I had the craving to take the hand of a girl, take her hand
But I didn’t
And we continued our slow climb
She told me she was not used to hills and mountains, as her country was flat, but she loved them
And when we arrived on top of the hill, she said that I was the person that listened the best she had ever encountered
And she added that she knew she was egoistic to speak and speak and speak and never ask me to, but she said she really needed to express herself
Then, I understood she was truly sensitive in the way I had imagined, dreamed
Of course, she did mistakes, she was egoist sometimes, but she knew it in her heart and acknowledged in such an earnest way
We continued walking till the entrance of the outdoors parking lot of her building, and there she stopped and bid me goodbye, asking me to be careful on the way back
And we started leaving, each from our side
When suddenly she called me back
And I walked slowly to her
And she said, very slowly
You are only the second person I meet with whom I like to write in this way
The sentence was strong, but the way she said it was way stronger
Behind these words, I heard true love
And at that instant my heart started beating fast, very fast
And I thanked her almost silently and I walked away
Listening to the music of Einaudi, and feeling my dancing heart that sung of love
At the precise moment she had spoken the magic words
I had fallen in love for her with all my heart
And I went back home in the sweetest of moods
And wrote her several messages in the next days continuing on the storyline I had started
She never replied
I proposed to see each other again
She didn’t show any sign of life
I asked her if her stock of paper and ink had ended
To no avail
And I lived horrendous nights in which I could barely sleep
She had bewitched me
And abandoned me to the loneliness of my fate
Of this love for her that was so deep it hurt
I managed to see her another time
When instead of writing her poetic lines
I said I had brought her a novel for Christmas, the tenant of Wildfell Hall
She didn’t offer any explanation for not replying, instead reproaching me of having bought her a present which put her ill at ease
And she behaved with friendliness but way more distantly than the night I saw her true face
The meeting barely lasted ten minutes, before our ways parted for one month of vacation
A month of silence, despite having tried to write her a long mail once
A month of waiting, as I could not resolve myself on forgetting her
For the briefest instant, I had touched love, and it hurt so much to have lost it already, which I found incomprehensible and unfair
-
All these events are three years old, so it is only the beginning of our story.
I invite you to check out my blog for the drawings that go with each of these chapters, and to check out other of my writings if you've enjoyed reading this erikvincentizakhia.wordpress.com
I've met my twin soul a bit more than three years ago, and I will share with you my love story in several entries. I used to identify myself with INFP and I believe she behaves as an INFJ. It's a bit long, but I believe it's worth sharing. I've written only the first few chapters, and will continue writing it fast or slowly, depending on my inspiration.
The dream
It all started when I was fourteen and I made a dream
The most striking dream of my life
So strong that I somehow knew waking up that it must be real, that it was actually real
In that dream, a girl was holding me and I was holding her, all our force clenched in this embrace
And it felt like the most perfect and complete embrace that could exist on earth
In her arms I felt entirely at peace, entirely accepted for who I truly am, entirely loved
My schoolmates sniggering was in an instant blown away by this powerful wind
It didn’t matter if people didn’t like me, if they made fun of me because I was different, because I didn’t know how to behave like them, because I didn’t want to conform
It didn’t matter if I felt so lonely and misunderstood, if I had no real friend except my family
No, nothing mattered before the potency of this dream love
In that brief instant I understood there existed a love so deep and powerful it upheaved our existence
In that brief instant I knew that I had to find her no matter what
And I started looking for my dream girl everywhere
I somehow knew I would recognize her
Not because I would be physically attracted to her, no it had nothing to do with physical attraction
But because my heart would bleed and cry and dance when seeing her, when looking in her eyes
I knew it would be of an intensity that surpassed everything I witnessed around me
In my teen years, I sometimes was of a deeply melancholic state of mind, without knowing why, without realizing that it was unnatural for a young boy to be so thoughtful, to have such a brooding mood
The only thought that brought real sunshine and warmth to my life was that of meeting her
Each time I went to the New Year’s mass with my parents, I prayed to find her
And for long, long years I didn’t
There was no trace of her
Anywhere
With time, I overcame my natural shyness that when I was a teenager made me stutter with everyone around at school, so afraid was I of my peers’ judgmental eyes
I didn’t know how to speak in slang as everybody else, I wasn’t capable of chitchatting
Before speaking I had to prepare the sentences I would say in my mind beforehand
And each time I cursed my stupidity, how socially unfit I felt I was
Later, much later, I became much more at ease with myself when I understood that speaking with others was not an exam I had to pass, but more like a discussion to discover more about them, about their life experiences, about the secret book of their soul
I wanted to become a writer and so I knew I needed these interactions, and I started asking many questions, carefully listening to answers
And in few years I met many close friends, as many as I didn’t have in my entire life, and with each of them the relationship seemed meaningful to me
And yet, despite not being lonely anymore in the physical plane, I continued feeling this loneliness of the heart
I never dated with any girl because each time I would get to know someone from close I’d understand it wasn’t the right person for me
I would go out of my comfort zone, speaking to strangers out of the blue, in the library, in public transportation, each time I’d notice a beautiful face
For I believed that I would recognize her from her face
But each time I was disappointed, the whole did not feel right, they didn’t have the sensitivity I was looking for
Almost a decade passed until I met her…
--
The shadow
What’s missing in my story is the shadow
The shadow of my words and my feelings
The shadow of my teen years
These things about myself that I didn’t accept, that I didn’t want to show to the world, because I was too ashamed and afraid
Since my early teens, I’ve been attracted to slight weight gain in women
That was the window through which I lived my sexuality
I fantasized about girls I knew, or a girl of my imagination, eating more than she should and putting on a bit of weight
I imagined how she would feel when she had eaten too much, when for a long time she remained skinny despite overeating
How after a couple of months she’d start gaining a few pounds and her clothes would become slightly tighter
Then with time she’d take more weight and her clothes would become even tighter, three, five, seven kilograms
And then I’d fall asleep and my fantasy would stop
And it would start anew the next morning, or the next night before falling asleep, with the same skinny girl or another one
It helped me not to think, to forget for an instant all my anguishes, and it awakened my body like nothing else could
I imagined the girl body pressed against mine, her forms pushing into me
Or I imagined being within her body, witnessing her change, her widening shapes, her snug sensation at her lower belly
Later, I started reading stories on the net of girls who had inadvertently put on a bit of weight
Some complained about it, others liked it, others even planned to take on some weight
And I always carefully canceled the history of my research
What if my father or uncle found out about it? I would die of shame, of guilt
Normal sexuality never presented any interest for me
I never watched porn
In a way, it had become too widely accepted and crude, it was not something progressive or transgressive as it was perhaps for my parents
I was uncomfortable with the idea of naked bodies
And the few times I had tried to look out for such content over the net to reassure myself I was not abnormal, I had been disgusted
For those reasons, I never learnt to reach an orgasm on my own
All my pleasure consisted in my intellectual fantasies of slight weight gains
And they could go on for hours and hours sometimes, when I was bored during long winter afternoons with no good book in which I was engrossed
And when I had periods in which these thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone, I worried if I were normal, if I could ever live in a healthy relationship
Deep down I knew I could, but I failed at reconciling what I saw as two distinct parts of myself
Me, the sensitive boy enamored of words and nature and true love versus me who could only think of fattening girls for my own pleasure
I knew that the second part of me was more a fantasy than a reality, something that was not as strong as my passion and ideals
And yet it was ever present, and even when I managed to block it for few months it came back whenever I was sad or tired or slightly depressed by my studies
I soon learnt to use it, or drown on it, whenever I had too many exams, too much to study
For a while, I could forget about everything while living my fantasy
At that time, I discovered there actually were videos on the net of women and girls who had this same fantasy of mine and put on weight intentionally
And I started watching them, and found out that there was a thing called fetish, and that many people had fetishes of one sort or another, some much worse than mine that was only weird
And it reassured me slightly, even though it still was a weight on my heart, on my mind
Each thing on earth has a shadow
A shadow is not something real and tangible
It is here without being here
Its shape is ever shifting according to sun’s course
And whatever are the properties and qualities of this object
Its shadow is always graying, sometimes darkening
We too have a shadow
The shadow of our smiles and our dreams
The shadow of our hearts
An ill-defined shadow, and yet shadow it is
We cannot get rid of this shadow as long as we live on earth
But we can understand what hides in it
We can learn not to fear it
Clearly distinguishing the true object, the unchanging soul, from its deceptive, ever-changing shadow
At the end, shadow only is a bit of smoke that sticks to surfaces
Blow it away and let it not worry you
--
First encounter
I met her when I expected the least
I was participating to a halloween party in which I knew nobody
Because of this drive to meet the girl of my dream, I often went to parties even if I didn’t feel at ease there
And I went alone because most of my friends didn’t enjoy these rumorous places
And because I thought to myself that if I’d better be alone to be free of my movements, my words, if I met her
So I went to parties, three or four times a year, each time swearing to myself it was the last
I erred like a ghost there, barely drunk a beer, barely dared to dance, never met anyone
My relationship with my body had never been good
It’s not that I didn’t like it, but I felt too awkward, tense, stiff and I thought that other judged me on that
On not knowing how to dance, how to accost a group of persons with ease, on not behaving appropriately, in a cool fahionable confident way which eluded me entirely
So that night I wasn’t expecting much
As usual I’d walk around the night club, trying to catch a pretty girl’s eyes, but never daring to speak to anyone as they all were accompanied and never returned my gaze
I didn’t want to go, so engrossed was I in my reading, but forced myself to as I had bought a sailor hat for a disguise the week before
And so I went, got lost on my way, entered the place
And when I entered, I looked behind me and met her eyes
It was very brief, and I didn’t feel anything special
But she had looked at me in the eyes, and she was alone
I instantly told to myself, if you don’t speak to her right now, you won’t speak to anybody of the night shy as you are
So along the entrance corridor, I breathed deeply to gather my courage of speaking to a stranger and spun my head and greeted her
We started speaking of unremarkable things, the countries we were originary from, our respective fields of studies
As it was an erasmus party, we all were foreigners coming from different places
I didn’t think much of her at the time, and as we ordered a beer I was almost sure she would leave me to join her friends
Until we started discussing of our passions in life, and I discovered that she loved reading, and that her favorites were also mine
And then she told me her dream was writing a historical or fantasy novel
And I was speechless, and all what I could say was me too, me too, and I felt almost foolish in how I mirrored her replies to my questions
I had started writing a historical novel taking place in Lebanon the year before
And somehow I intuitively knew that my dream girl would love reading, and that she would be sensitive to writing too
But I didn’t know she would be a writer too
Who, like me, had chosen a field of study that had little to do with our strongest passion
I looked a lot into her eyes and felt at ease with her, even danced a little without feeling ridiculous, and we smiled a lot to each other
At first I had not found her pretty, I had even thought her face disharmonious
But as we started speaking about who we truly were the disharmony wiped away from her face and all what remained was beauty and intensity
She told me that she was writing about life changing encounters
And for the first time in a very long time I contemplated with myself the possibility of falling in love with someone, with her
And at that moment, she told me she had a boyfriend back in her home country
And I felt it was a cold shower on all my nascent hopes, and I felt frustrated by what I considered as an unfairness
What should the only girl I am genuinely interested in happen to be already engaged
And I left the party with little more than her full name and the vague promise that we might encounter each other again, or might not as the campus is very wide
--
Falling in love
During the next few days, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of the writer girl I had met at the Halloween party
I sent her one of my favorite short stories, the prisoner, and she sent me one of hers, the tale of an immortal character who wanted to be delivered from her immortality
And two weeks later we met again, for lunch under a bright November sun
And we spoke and spoke
It was mostly me asking questions and her telling me about her life, about the divorce of her parents when she was seven year old that had left her a deep wound, wiping off all her memories between seven and ten
And she told me how until a couple of years backward she had been a library rat spending all her time reading, barely socializing
And while she was speaking, I kept on asking myself who she truly was, and if she was the right person for me
After a while she abruptly decided she had to go study
But before that and to my surprise, she said that she had really enjoyed our time together and proposed to see each other at the same time the week after
For two other weeks in a row, we met, and each time I saw another facet of her personality
And I found it complicated to add up the different parts together
After the brightness of our first encounter, I had been slightly disappointed by her texts I had read, wondering if she was truly the writer she pretended to be
And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking to her, and waited anxiously for our short weekly meeting
The fourth week, she told me she was too busy with her studies to meet me
But I didn’t want to wait, she was an exchange student after all and would soon enough leave
And that convinced me to propose her to go out during the weekend, when before all our planned meetings had taken place within university context
But I was too afraid of being rejected to write her a direct, straight to the point message
Instead I wrote her a short fantasy story, an idea that had stemmed to my mind one night after attending a mass, something I rarely do
And to my surprise she replied in the same way and agreed to meet on Saturday evening
And we met, and again I was disappointed by the disharmony on her face that reflected harshness and preoccupation
But as she spoke and spoke about what mattered to her heart the most, the fire of passion shone into her eyes, and emotions softened her face
And suddenly she had the most beautiful face I had ever seen on earth
It was a strong and strange moment to see her and to see her reflection in the mirror close to her
At that moment, I understood that was her true face, when she was in harmony with herself, with her dream
And her face reminded me of something old, very old
And I could see myself too in her face
She broke that moment, proposing to go out from the café where we had been sitting
And once outside she told me my intensity put her ill at ease, and that my gaze and my prolonged eye contact intimidated her
We crossed the town toward its height where she lived, where I had never been
She told me of her fascination for large empty spaces, and how it bored her boyfriend when she spoke her impressions
It reassured me in a way, telling myself that he surely wasn’t the right person for her, and yet it saddened me for her
We climbed on spaced stairs on a narrow winding path
And I noticed she climbed very slowly
And for the first time I felt real tenderness for her
I felt all her vulnerability, and for the first time in my life I had the craving to take the hand of a girl, take her hand
But I didn’t
And we continued our slow climb
She told me she was not used to hills and mountains, as her country was flat, but she loved them
And when we arrived on top of the hill, she said that I was the person that listened the best she had ever encountered
And she added that she knew she was egoistic to speak and speak and speak and never ask me to, but she said she really needed to express herself
Then, I understood she was truly sensitive in the way I had imagined, dreamed
Of course, she did mistakes, she was egoist sometimes, but she knew it in her heart and acknowledged in such an earnest way
We continued walking till the entrance of the outdoors parking lot of her building, and there she stopped and bid me goodbye, asking me to be careful on the way back
And we started leaving, each from our side
When suddenly she called me back
And I walked slowly to her
And she said, very slowly
You are only the second person I meet with whom I like to write in this way
The sentence was strong, but the way she said it was way stronger
Behind these words, I heard true love
And at that instant my heart started beating fast, very fast
And I thanked her almost silently and I walked away
Listening to the music of Einaudi, and feeling my dancing heart that sung of love
At the precise moment she had spoken the magic words
I had fallen in love for her with all my heart
And I went back home in the sweetest of moods
And wrote her several messages in the next days continuing on the storyline I had started
She never replied
I proposed to see each other again
She didn’t show any sign of life
I asked her if her stock of paper and ink had ended
To no avail
And I lived horrendous nights in which I could barely sleep
She had bewitched me
And abandoned me to the loneliness of my fate
Of this love for her that was so deep it hurt
I managed to see her another time
When instead of writing her poetic lines
I said I had brought her a novel for Christmas, the tenant of Wildfell Hall
She didn’t offer any explanation for not replying, instead reproaching me of having bought her a present which put her ill at ease
And she behaved with friendliness but way more distantly than the night I saw her true face
The meeting barely lasted ten minutes, before our ways parted for one month of vacation
A month of silence, despite having tried to write her a long mail once
A month of waiting, as I could not resolve myself on forgetting her
For the briefest instant, I had touched love, and it hurt so much to have lost it already, which I found incomprehensible and unfair
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All these events are three years old, so it is only the beginning of our story.
I invite you to check out my blog for the drawings that go with each of these chapters, and to check out other of my writings if you've enjoyed reading this erikvincentizakhia.wordpress.com