Something old, something blue...

This is something old because I wrote it a long time ago.
This is something borrowed because who knows what was true in that cold Dutch winter - it could well be the story of the friend of a friend.
This is something blue because is a tale of dreams and goodbyes.

Love (the making of)

Guy meets girl and they see each other each day of each month of a year. Their lives never touch; reality builds parallel ways.

Girl meets guy again right after she stopped dreaming. They find out that it is extremely easy to speak their lives out, to switch from reality to the place of their hearts where all the fears are. They talk about how it hurts and where it hurts, about hope (not together, but hope) and feel this world is not meant for people who do not believe.

And then sex becomes a bedtime story. They both knew that searching the other’s body was just an excuse to sleep with the weight of an arm on his shoulder or her feet sheltered between the warmth of his legs.

Time went fast that week.

Then we talked again and I couldn’t avoid telling you my life, from the big to the small, from the certain to the relative. You let your heart feel, and dared to tell your friends that sometimes the weight of loneliness is too heavy for you to bare it alone.

After the night when you drove South and I borrowed your world, love happened as life. I cannot really explain how from talking we switched to listening, from kissing to holding, from staring to believing. Perhaps it was the music (my music, which ran into your head as a universe you’d never met), perhaps your fingers running slowly across my back, or your lips that knew the exact place where I keep the dreams.

But that day we made love. It was not only about our bodies that happen to fit as if they had only that purpose. It was not on the space we filled with patience and time, or in our scared hearts happy to find some rest.

Love happened when we realised that there was not an ‘after’, but there was a before, and struggled to freeze that moment and to make the last caress stay for the lonely nights ahead.

Girl left guy next morning, when reality hit and there was a plane to catch. They keep telling each other their fears and send kisses that sometimes mean the world and sometimes fade on the notion that there is no perhaps. Yet perhaps.