Sometimes I look at you, through the glass walls of the office, and wonder how it is possible that we have come to this. Being fellow workers, it all began slowly, very slowly. After meetings we began talking about our lives, exchanging information about our children, our families, our respective divorces, and we began building that trust and friendship that ultimately grew into passionate love. At first, we kept it a precious secret, only for ourselves. It was exciting, exhilarating. I remember that glorious Spring Day, just before Easter, when we met at a cliff above the sea, and when you saw me, you just opened your arms and I ran into them… how happy we were then, and for a long time too! And how did things get so bad, how did we let them get to the point of no return – I’ll never be able to answer this question, because I don’t know how two people who love each other so much can afford to lose something as precious as we had. But the fact is – we did. For a time, we made some pretence of friendship. We even went out to dinner for a few times, and we talked of everything and nothing, but never about us, or the reasons for our breakup. I always knew this was taboo for you, as you never wanted to discuss serious matters, even when we were still together. Like an ostrich, you’d bury your head in the sand and make-believe all problems had disappeared. But they didn’t, they came back to us inexorably, until they were too much to bear. Then you withdrew into your shell again. No more long talks about nothing much, no more dinners. Sometimes I think you’re afraid of me, afraid of whatever emotions I may still stir in your heart; emotions you don’t want to feel. Maybe you feel comfortable with a life that has no complications, that doesn’t bring you excitement or heartbreak, a life where you control your emotions. Because you were hurt, and you don’t want to be hurt again – or so you’ve told me. And now you are on the verge of retirement, and I’ll probably stop seeing you in the only place where our paths cross – that same office where they came together for the first time. Soon I’ll look through the glass walls and I won’t see your tall figure, your familiar way of walking; I won’t hear your voice or your laugh. If not for a rare, occasional meeting at some mutual friends’, I’ll probably never see you again. Maybe, I think, It’s for the best. If I don’t see you, who knows, I may stop thinking about you. I’ll probably stop looking at your arms and how they used to hold me, stop thinking how I ran my fingers through your dark hair, see your hands and remember how you held mine in your strong grip, distinguish your silhouette among a thousand different ones… I always end up thinking how special you were, and how there will never be anyone like you in my life. Now that I know I won’t be seeing you anymore, I hope those thoughts will wander away from my mind, so they won’t hurt anymore. I hope the memory of you fades away in the mists of time and I will stop being sad over you, and our love story. And then, only then, maybe I will smile at life again. …
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There comes a moment in life when you must accept that some of the people you love the most are absent from your life. What is absence, anyway? It’s a feeling of loneliness, of not being able to have the company of someone, to touch or hug him or her, to be away, parted from that person you love; to miss that person, so much that your heart aches and there is such a void inside you that, it seems, …
You are my oldest friend. It all began when I was nine and you were ten, and it’s been fifty years. We met at school, back in the days of wine and roses of the Mozambican era, when we lived in paradise but didn’t know it then; those days when we dreamt of knights and damsels, kings and castles, battles, and bravery; those long, hot summer days when we sat for hours in my swimming pool, just enjoying the moment. …
Yesterday I went to a wedding. It was the wedding of the daughter of a fellow worker, someone I consider a friend, but even so I was surprised at the invitation. Very few people from the office were invited, but it’s true that the bride’s mother and I share a bond that has lasted for quite a few years. So, I said yes, even if the prospect of a wedding is not exactly something that I relish. The last wedding …
These last few days were Heaven, but right now I’m already missing you. As I told you this morning, our life now is a constant mix of “hellos” and “goodbyes”, with the video calls in between. I never thought it would hurt so much to see you go away; to have a son living in another country. I was hardly prepared for it, and it hurt deeply. For months I pined for you, thinking of the happy moments …
I still think of 1982 as the best year of my life, because so many wonderful things happened to me during that year. And you were definitely one of them. You touched my life briefly; we both knew you could not linger, as we knew there was no future for us. But the moments we lived together were so special that we never forgot each other. I kept you as a cherished memory as I believe you kept …
We were going for a walk on a Spring afternoon that felt like an early summer, and he told me about his father. He’s such a smiling, carefree person, but as he talked, I saw the sadness in his eyes. He had a happy childhood and early teens. When he was about 17, his father abruptly decided he wanted to divorce his mother. For years he had been having an affair with his personal assistant, and apparently, …
You left us a few days ago. Your soul finally left your body, where it had been incarcerated for such a long time. Your frail, old, decaying body that was but a pale shadow of what it used to be; and each day that went by you decayed a little more, and each day I was sorrier to see you that way. I looked at you and wondered how it is possible for someone to come to this …
There’s a recent song by Ed Sheeran called “Visiting hours”. I’m not really sure about the story it tells, but it must be a sad one, and every time I hear it I remember my visits to Mom and the pain I feel to see her as she is, not to mention the pain she must be feeling herself. Mom was an independent woman if ever there was one. She went to university, graduated, and took a job …
There is an old song by Neil Sedaka called Solitare. I hadn’t thought about it for years, but the other day, as loneliness invaded me, it came to my mind. I remember listening to this song at a time when I knew nothing about being lonely. I was young, surrounded by people. Too surrounded in fact. As a teenager, I had very little freedom, I was controlled all the time and I so wanted to fly with my …
