The body is a matter of conviction, a cluster of immovable organs. The organ is the idea. The eye is a matter of seeing. Your hand signifies holding hands. The lips mean kissing, oh, the heart means carnage. There is no way out of this vicious circle. Our love must be ritual. We move around each other showing signs, symptoms. My lungs moving up and down mean to tell you that you take my breath away. When they no longer move in that way I need to say it. Language is no longer referential. We need to tell each other somehow that our bodies long for each other. You need to get ready before I kiss you with the intention of carrying on. I need to make it clear by saying it and making that language referential. I want more than kissing and holding hands, I’d say it, and you’d say all right, just give me a minute. Our love must be ritual. We need to convince ourselves that it must be ritual. We envy their easiness but we make love anyway. Otherwise we would vanish. What am I to do without you?
She said to me, would you like that, would you like to be like all the others, would you like to have that? I thought, my love, I haven’t been blessed like you did, with beauty and looks, and all the rest, I haven’t been blessed with an exceptional ear for the music that sets the world into rhythm, I haven’t been blessed with the hand of a genius writer. She said you still don’t know what you have. You’ll probably realize it later. I knew she said that because somehow she felt the growing distance between us. It was like saying that I will surely realize it later but she won’t be around to see that. And she wasn’t around. I knew she won’t be. And then we said goodbye because there was somebody else waiting for her at the entrance. She said we’ll keep in touch, and we did, yet I was the only one trying to reach her. Anyways, she was too good to be true. She found loving arms somewhere else, and then somewhere else, and she never came back. She once told me she will always love me. Maybe she still loves me. She disappeared, just like that, to wake up in another man’s warm bed. Why are beds warm? Today my bed is cold. The world is filled with cold beds, one sided beds, undisturbed on the other side, huge windows and closed doors. Today my bed resembles my cold, one-sided heart.
We haven’t been blessed, my love, not like that. We have been blessed with fear.
Have you met him before? Have you seen him before? Father was furious now. No, I said, I had not seen him before, yet I felt like I knew him for ages. Don’t you find that strange? Don’t you think there had been a connection between the two of you? How come you saw him and instantly fell in love with him? The mind forgets but the heart never forgets.
The world is not as you thought of it, Father. There is no happiness among us unless we do what we want and our will is to find that happiness and consume it as soon as possible. Life does not follow intricate plots with mysterious people watching us, their eyes glistening in the dark on badly lit streets. There are no faceless people unless we pathologically fall in love with them. We do not travel to foreign cities to have intricate relationships with strangers. Here, angels appear unless we want them to appear. The instant we hold between the fingers is as elusive as light.
Still, there is no reason for you to find love and affection into the arms of another man, that is against everything we have fought for, everything we believe in. The future will be empty because of you. Father kept talking saying that it is a vice against family values but as he talked this shadow crept over his shoulders covering him.
I don’t need you, Father. And he fell silent.
I have come this far, I won’t go back.