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spring pulled us apart for a while. it was mainly my doing but you didn’t seem to mind, either. it is sad – that I had to lose you first in order to realize that tu me manques. I spent three months in the hills, loving blue mornings with a completely wrong person. at the time, I thought I was content and happy.
I will never have the courage to tell you. there’s nothing to tell, really.
our story is being written and it is far from over.
I don’t know what next chapters will be about but I’m glad that the last one has come to an end.
I need to be more careful. but I also need to trust more.
I am not sure how I am ever going to achieve that but knowing that you are here with me kind of makes me ease up.
I am not expecting any more than I deserve. which is the most honest measure there is.
a year ago, when I first met you, I had no idea. any more than I do now.
but the balance, which we have managed to create in the last few weeks, I needed it and I guess that’s all that matters.
I hope autumn will be good to us. just imagine it: scarves, hot mugs of pumpkin-orange flavored coffee and walks along the harbor front as the red, winter sun disappears.
I make fun of you for being a romantic, but in reality, it’s me.
don’t disappear, please.
a bunch of incoherent words and sentences:
mid-august; not as bad as I thought it would be. not as bad as some. it doesn’t matter. early mornings; my body wakes up with the sunrise. but sometimes we stay outside the whole night. the british boy was here and then left. I’d barely seen him. there were some good moments. I’m awaiting for summer’s end. in may I thought it was going to be a memorable summer. and indeed it has been, but in a completely different light. I still wake up in the middle of the night, because the uneasy feeling never really leaves. hong kong wears me out. I don’t have time to write or to read. my camera collects dust instead of memories. I’m weary and bored.
two mornings; completely different. night and day; just like the two of us. one evening when it rained heavily and the typhoon was on its way, he made dinner. I welcomed the darkness of a fresh night with nothing but a glass of cold water. I fell sick that night. we took turns in feeding each other spoons of banana ice cream, laughing. you are like the little one, he tells me. he hugs me and I can never leave when I am supposed to. I’m always late but it is always worth it. roadside bar. it is slowly becoming our place. zaz; the live album. a glass of merlot and his brown eyes before me. I never truly understood how much I can hurt him until the other night. not that I want to hurt him. it’s just that never before had I realized how vulnerable he actually is. it was an eye-opening realization.
I have been feeling sick and weak the past few weeks, constantly. uninspired; unable to write. secretly I was hoping the words would align somehow, just like that. I’m still waiting for the urge. it’s hard work and I’m nowhere near my full potential. nowhere near. vivid images appear out of nowhere. hong kong at night, hong kong in the morning. coffees, yogurt with granola and blueberries for breakfast, fresh strawberries. sunny days, rain, typhoons and quiet. reading the google news and reader, trying to find something to hang onto. studying french verbs, memorizing the rules and plurals. but I still learn the most from him. his soft pronunciation and glowing eyes as he looks at me. I still get nervous; just before I go to meet him, I still get nervous a little bit. when I see his name on the caller id, I feel a rush. even after so many months.
we dream together, but mostly it’s just him. he dreams for both of us because he knows I am afraid. don’t be scared, he says. don’t be scared. it’s so easy to say. I’m thinking of an island, somewhere in the atlantic. palm trees, the sound of waves and colorful dresses. like in one of those music videos he sends me. it is such a contrast to our nights spent in dark neighborhoods of hong kong, which constantly glow in red neon light. sometimes I despise the neon, but it is everywhere.
an image from a few weeks ago: kowloon city and those three palms by the bus terminal. early morning, yellow buildings and blue sky. I dragged myself across the road, wishing I could go home. salty tears dried on my face, making my eyes look sleepy. he fell asleep on my chest as the bus stood motionlessly in a traffic jam. sunshine turned my hair into gold. a mother and an infant sat across from me; I felt sick. last september seems so far away and the one of tomorrow will be nothing like it. I am not sure how much longer.
sometimes I hate those endless, sleepless nights. sometimes they are the only thing that makes sense in this mess.
wanderlust. it only took a few messages from filmmaker and encouraging words from my mother and it’s back. I keep thinking of last year’s trip to europe and how this time it would be more about the other side. south east asia is covered in pollution and grayness. it is tiring. slow, lazy weekend. watching television shows back to back and cooking instant korean noodles. the boy would scoff if he knew, but he’s only mocking me. the british boy is back in town, which is a little funny because I never thought I’d see him back down here. I tried to look him up on these pages but I never wrote about him. last time we saw each other was during those hot august nights back in prague. some things I would change, but for others I am glad.
friday night; filmmaker came over for dinner after eight months. my signature pasta pomodoro. bottles of wine and adele’s one and only on crappy speakers. it almost felt as if the time stopped for a little bit. we took the train downtown, peel street. our regular drinking hole but things have been changing around that area. last summer was completely different but at least we have claire now. places down the hill were either too crowded or too loud and long ice tea just knocked me out. the boy waited for me as always but this time a little suspicious. where did you go? with filmmaker, you know. I am here now. then the pathos, the same old song, always. I got him down on my side shortly after four. we stood at the bottom of the hill, a couple of a musicians playing acoustic guitar. I thought it was a strange that a street corner can be so alive at four in the morning, yet go entirely unnoticed twelve hours later. our hips joined together, I let him lead. oasis’ wonderwall but it was alright by me.
the bus ride back home made me feel all kinds of things. it is strange how everything worked out in the end. instead of being heartbroken, I am less scared now to follow my heart. the light changed above us, but we hardly noticed. that short moment when you both stop and smile. I am not yet aware of how much I should be grateful but it is slowly coming to me. and it was only a year ago.
1. the noble house in blue; 2. peeking moon; 3. reflections; 4. at the bottom of ifc red bar; 5. sunset; 6. red, pink and blue
hong kong has returned to its blues and mine have left me. the above images are what remains from one of my favorite days with the boy. our original plan to spend the afternoon at the beach failed, but we didn’t mind. we still basked in the sun on the rooftop of ifc and drank summer cocktails; listened our own playlists and let the moon follow us. we laughed until our bodies shook and held hands like it was the most important thing in the world. in a way it was, because I never want to let him go again. when I let him go three months ago, I couldn’t even image the price I would pay later. I have learnt my lesson. he’s still here, he’s still with me despite everything. I am grateful more than words can convey. why don’t we always have days like this? he asked me. and I didn’t know what to say.
in the last few months my words have failed me more often than they have helped me and I’m trying to work on that. I still can’t get a good night’s sleep because I keep waking up from strange dreams, sometimes nightmares, but it’s getting easier. the boy is there for me. he is a night owl, more than I am, and I know that I can just talk to him at three in the morning, when things seem to be the worst. sometimes I feel guilty, sometimes I am just angry, frustrated and disappointed. hurt. the last one is the worst. I keep trying to push it away, but sometimes it doesn’t work that way.
the other night we watched les bien-aimes together. it fitted us. paris and prague; french and bits of czech. the little hidden stories; sometimes the characters spoke what we’d been wanting to say to each other all along. he held my hand and I put my head on his shoulder; the cinema house was almost empty. we fought over the popcorn, laughed and kept silent when it wasn’t funny anymore. every once in a while I felt him lower his head a little and kiss the top of my head, softly brushing my hair neat with his fingers. after the film finished, we walked around three blocks back to my apartment building. he doesn’t try to come up anymore, so I stick around with him for a little longer. it all felt like such a cliche but then I realized it wasn’t. and last night he said to me, what we have is rare, you know. it saddens me that I had to lose him first in order to realize that.