Not your fault
You did it again.
I’m still sitting on the sofa, nursing my rapidly cooling coffee, waiting. That’s all I ever seem to be doing these days. Waiting. I’m tired, I have been working a lot lately and haven’t yet got the chance to sleep it off, and I must admit, sitting for long hours staring at the bare wall, doing nothing, is not exactly what I had in mind for today.
I’m exaggerating of course, it’s not like I’ve been locked inside a bare room all day, we did make sure after buying this flat to make it as homely as possible considering the circumstances. I remember running from one shop to another, trying the impossible - to furnish a newly bought apartment in just three days. We didn’t have more than that, it was so rare in those days that we could meet for more than just a couple of hours. We have been working a lot these last years, especially you and I guess I shouldn’t be complaining, this is what we have always been longing to do, but having you on the other side of the world is not exactly my definition of Paradise.
Yet, we did manage to create ourselves a nice home, a refuge from the world. I love being here. It seems as if every piece of furniture had its own story about us. I remember fighting over that hideous coffee table, I still can’t believe I let you convince me to buy it. I remember tricking you into buying this sofa with the promise of christening it properly with long hours of hot, steamy sex. I remember being pulled quickly into a shop to hide from one of your wife’s friends, we have found the perfect bed there.
I remember filling the bookcase with books we both love with passion. I have been reading one of our favourites today while waiting, but it just wasn’t the same without your arm around me, your chin resting on my shoulder as you’re reading with me, slightly annoyed that I’m slower than you so you have to wait for me to come to the end of the page. Reading on my own is just not the same, especially when pulled out of my readings back into reality by every little sound, hoping it’s that of a key being turned in the lock.
But you never came.
It’s not the first time. I should have gotten used to it by now. It has happened often enough that you promised to meet me here but didn’t turn up. There’s always a good reason, of course: a row with your wife, playing with your children who make you forget the time and sometimes you’re just tired from work. The funny thing is, I’m not angry, I understand. You have a life that I can’t be part of, family and friends I’ll never meet. I don’t pretend I’m not jealous, I am, so much I feel ashamed sometimes. Not of them, not of your children or friends, but the time you spend with them. Every minute you give to them is as if it has been stolen from me and I feel the loss dearly.
But what really pains me is this. Being led to believe that we could spend some time together and then being stood up. The first time it happened I was disappointed of course, but didn’t think much of it. Until I had to realize it was not just a one time thing. I know you’re not doing it deliberately, I understand that you can’t say ‘no’ when your children want to play with you and your wife’s moods are always unpredictable, or rather too predictable, she always starts a fight when you’re about to leave to meet me.
I’m not angry at you for not coming, it still hurts to be pushed aside so easily. It’s not even that I doubt your feelings for me. I know you love me, every word, every tender caress, every hungry kiss reminds me of the intensity of your feelings. I know your love for me can never diminish just because there’s place for others in your life. I have come to terms with only having one slice of your heart, with having to share you with all the others you hold dear. And slowly, painfully slowly I have even hardened my heart enough to bear being dumped like this. It was a long process, I used to suffer more. Once I got drunk and broke down, I was crying for long hours before falling asleep curled around a pillow that still smelled of you. I woke up in your arms the next morning, you had been worried when I didn’t answer the phone so you came to find me. You spent the next few days with me and didn’t care what your wife would say. Since then I’ve learned not to get my hopes too high when you call. It makes your arrival much sweeter and your absence less unbearable. Yet, coming here to our flat, our home, hoping to finally see you, touch you again, just to be disappointed is still much worse than not seeing you at all.
Everything here reminds me of you, of us, of our love. The photos on the wall, this mug you bought me for our anniversary last year - you have always been terrible at giving presents. And that carpet in our bedroom. I remember how you whined and complained of intense pain for weeks after we had made love on it, I just smiled wickedly and reminded you that you should have thought of that while I was riding you in complete abandon.
I sigh and drown my cold coffee before I take the mug into the kitchen to wash it up to put it back into the cupboard.
I do love this flat much more than the one I’m living in alone, I love sharing this place with you. It’s home, even if only in our dream world since we both have our separate homes, separate lives. Yet, when we’re here together it feels more real than anything else. We draw the curtains and lock the door, we lock out the rest of the world and only live for each other. We transform our pasts, create a future for just the two of us and we don’t need another present only what is contained inside these walls. Love and imagination are our greatest allies and we don’t lack either but they’re gentle and not trained against the brutal force of the real world and no matter how fierce they fight it only takes a phone call and you’re gone.
I miss you. I miss you every second when you’re away but it’s the worst when I’m here in our hidden world alone. I feel your absence more acutely than anywhere else. You’re here in every molecule of the room, in the dust on the shelves in the air, yet you’re far away and I yearn to feel you close. I hate being here on my own, alone with unwanted thoughts of leaving you. I’m not strong enough to ward them off but they’re harmless, really, because I know I could never act on the impulse to punish you this way because it would kill me to never see you again.
We will talk tomorrow. I might say “You could at least have phoned” but you won’t feel how much it hurts me to wait in vain. It’s strange how you know me so well but can’t see this. Strange to think that you know the core of me, you hold it in your hands, accept my annoying habits and feel glad that I love yours and yet, you never see that it’s not enough. I hardly ever complain because that first “hi” and that mischievous half smile immediately chase away all my fears and bad feelings. One kiss and I forget there’s anything to complain about. It’s enough, you and me together, this feeling, this intimate closeness, it’s enough. But I want it every moment of every day not just at weekends or on holidays. I want to feel you inside me when we fall asleep in each other’s arms, I want to feel your presence even through the thick fog of my dreams, I want to wake up beside you every morning and more. I want to have the whole world for us, not just this flat. I want to be able to call you mine even outside our Paradise. I know I can never have what I want. We’re only strangers outside our carefully created world.
I never told you this, because the moment you pull me into your arms I forget I will have to let go in just a couple of hours, I forget how many nights I will spend in my own flat, sitting beside the phone, waiting for your call. I can’t waste our precious time on complaining. “You could at least have phoned” is all I can manage once in a while. Sometimes you apologize, but it’s rare that you feel guilty. And you’re right. Why should you? Why should you feel guilty for living, for leading your life? Why should you trade reality for a dream, no matter how perfect it is?
It’s not your fault I have become too dependent on dreaming, it’s not your fault that you make me feel so light that I always float above the ground and can’t tie myself down to reality. It’s not your fault I need to breathe you in to keep me from drowning, that I only see you in the dark, lonely hours of the night, that I only long for your touch. It’s not your fault that I only feel alive when we’re together. It’s not your fault I love you. It’s not your fault…
It’s not your fault… It’s not your fault…
I keep repeating it to myself as I take my coat and slowly step out of the flat, looking back once more with a sad smile on my face.
It’s not your fault…
I lock the door and leave.
Until next time…
I’m still sitting on the sofa, nursing my rapidly cooling coffee, waiting. That’s all I ever seem to be doing these days. Waiting. I’m tired, I have been working a lot lately and haven’t yet got the chance to sleep it off, and I must admit, sitting for long hours staring at the bare wall, doing nothing, is not exactly what I had in mind for today.
I’m exaggerating of course, it’s not like I’ve been locked inside a bare room all day, we did make sure after buying this flat to make it as homely as possible considering the circumstances. I remember running from one shop to another, trying the impossible - to furnish a newly bought apartment in just three days. We didn’t have more than that, it was so rare in those days that we could meet for more than just a couple of hours. We have been working a lot these last years, especially you and I guess I shouldn’t be complaining, this is what we have always been longing to do, but having you on the other side of the world is not exactly my definition of Paradise.
Yet, we did manage to create ourselves a nice home, a refuge from the world. I love being here. It seems as if every piece of furniture had its own story about us. I remember fighting over that hideous coffee table, I still can’t believe I let you convince me to buy it. I remember tricking you into buying this sofa with the promise of christening it properly with long hours of hot, steamy sex. I remember being pulled quickly into a shop to hide from one of your wife’s friends, we have found the perfect bed there.
I remember filling the bookcase with books we both love with passion. I have been reading one of our favourites today while waiting, but it just wasn’t the same without your arm around me, your chin resting on my shoulder as you’re reading with me, slightly annoyed that I’m slower than you so you have to wait for me to come to the end of the page. Reading on my own is just not the same, especially when pulled out of my readings back into reality by every little sound, hoping it’s that of a key being turned in the lock.
But you never came.
It’s not the first time. I should have gotten used to it by now. It has happened often enough that you promised to meet me here but didn’t turn up. There’s always a good reason, of course: a row with your wife, playing with your children who make you forget the time and sometimes you’re just tired from work. The funny thing is, I’m not angry, I understand. You have a life that I can’t be part of, family and friends I’ll never meet. I don’t pretend I’m not jealous, I am, so much I feel ashamed sometimes. Not of them, not of your children or friends, but the time you spend with them. Every minute you give to them is as if it has been stolen from me and I feel the loss dearly.
But what really pains me is this. Being led to believe that we could spend some time together and then being stood up. The first time it happened I was disappointed of course, but didn’t think much of it. Until I had to realize it was not just a one time thing. I know you’re not doing it deliberately, I understand that you can’t say ‘no’ when your children want to play with you and your wife’s moods are always unpredictable, or rather too predictable, she always starts a fight when you’re about to leave to meet me.
I’m not angry at you for not coming, it still hurts to be pushed aside so easily. It’s not even that I doubt your feelings for me. I know you love me, every word, every tender caress, every hungry kiss reminds me of the intensity of your feelings. I know your love for me can never diminish just because there’s place for others in your life. I have come to terms with only having one slice of your heart, with having to share you with all the others you hold dear. And slowly, painfully slowly I have even hardened my heart enough to bear being dumped like this. It was a long process, I used to suffer more. Once I got drunk and broke down, I was crying for long hours before falling asleep curled around a pillow that still smelled of you. I woke up in your arms the next morning, you had been worried when I didn’t answer the phone so you came to find me. You spent the next few days with me and didn’t care what your wife would say. Since then I’ve learned not to get my hopes too high when you call. It makes your arrival much sweeter and your absence less unbearable. Yet, coming here to our flat, our home, hoping to finally see you, touch you again, just to be disappointed is still much worse than not seeing you at all.
Everything here reminds me of you, of us, of our love. The photos on the wall, this mug you bought me for our anniversary last year - you have always been terrible at giving presents. And that carpet in our bedroom. I remember how you whined and complained of intense pain for weeks after we had made love on it, I just smiled wickedly and reminded you that you should have thought of that while I was riding you in complete abandon.
I sigh and drown my cold coffee before I take the mug into the kitchen to wash it up to put it back into the cupboard.
I do love this flat much more than the one I’m living in alone, I love sharing this place with you. It’s home, even if only in our dream world since we both have our separate homes, separate lives. Yet, when we’re here together it feels more real than anything else. We draw the curtains and lock the door, we lock out the rest of the world and only live for each other. We transform our pasts, create a future for just the two of us and we don’t need another present only what is contained inside these walls. Love and imagination are our greatest allies and we don’t lack either but they’re gentle and not trained against the brutal force of the real world and no matter how fierce they fight it only takes a phone call and you’re gone.
I miss you. I miss you every second when you’re away but it’s the worst when I’m here in our hidden world alone. I feel your absence more acutely than anywhere else. You’re here in every molecule of the room, in the dust on the shelves in the air, yet you’re far away and I yearn to feel you close. I hate being here on my own, alone with unwanted thoughts of leaving you. I’m not strong enough to ward them off but they’re harmless, really, because I know I could never act on the impulse to punish you this way because it would kill me to never see you again.
We will talk tomorrow. I might say “You could at least have phoned” but you won’t feel how much it hurts me to wait in vain. It’s strange how you know me so well but can’t see this. Strange to think that you know the core of me, you hold it in your hands, accept my annoying habits and feel glad that I love yours and yet, you never see that it’s not enough. I hardly ever complain because that first “hi” and that mischievous half smile immediately chase away all my fears and bad feelings. One kiss and I forget there’s anything to complain about. It’s enough, you and me together, this feeling, this intimate closeness, it’s enough. But I want it every moment of every day not just at weekends or on holidays. I want to feel you inside me when we fall asleep in each other’s arms, I want to feel your presence even through the thick fog of my dreams, I want to wake up beside you every morning and more. I want to have the whole world for us, not just this flat. I want to be able to call you mine even outside our Paradise. I know I can never have what I want. We’re only strangers outside our carefully created world.
I never told you this, because the moment you pull me into your arms I forget I will have to let go in just a couple of hours, I forget how many nights I will spend in my own flat, sitting beside the phone, waiting for your call. I can’t waste our precious time on complaining. “You could at least have phoned” is all I can manage once in a while. Sometimes you apologize, but it’s rare that you feel guilty. And you’re right. Why should you? Why should you feel guilty for living, for leading your life? Why should you trade reality for a dream, no matter how perfect it is?
It’s not your fault I have become too dependent on dreaming, it’s not your fault that you make me feel so light that I always float above the ground and can’t tie myself down to reality. It’s not your fault I need to breathe you in to keep me from drowning, that I only see you in the dark, lonely hours of the night, that I only long for your touch. It’s not your fault that I only feel alive when we’re together. It’s not your fault I love you. It’s not your fault…
It’s not your fault… It’s not your fault…
I keep repeating it to myself as I take my coat and slowly step out of the flat, looking back once more with a sad smile on my face.
It’s not your fault…
I lock the door and leave.
Until next time…