I’m in pain, dealing with a loss I didn’t expect having to deal with. As the doors to the future open wide before my eyes, I can’t help but looking back and suspire with sadness at the sight of what’s gone. An end is always a beginning, yet giving birth to the new hurts like fucking hell.
It was meant to happen, and when it happened, it went by fast. The random message over Facebook. The subsequent conversation. Agreeing to meet. And meeting in Christianshavn. And realizing that what I wished (and feared) for over a year was finally occurring. It was her, right there and then. Though, somehow, it wasn’t. We were changed. Different. Outside and within.
The sole idea of seeing her again would make my heart skip a beat. Now, she wasn’t so terrifying, not anymore. She was just Anna. Seeing her from the eyes of my cynical mind, rather the infatuated eyes of the connection we used to had, was… underwhelming. The primal, wild beauty of the Anna I shared the bed with had been diminished by the distance of time and past emotions. As all the remaining feelings were shut down by the sheer hardness of the impenetrable wall between us. The wall of impossibility, of inconvenience, of a future that wouldn’t nor couldn’t be.
We hugged, sat by the canal and opened the gates of our inner forts just enough to let our truths see the light. It was hurtful for the ego, but great for the the heart. Nor she or I were on the best place for any type of relationship when we met last year. We were just a broken boy and a hurt little girl wearing the skin of two adults, fucking each other to scare the pain away. There was a connection in the midst of our pain, but for her those times were a blur trapped inside a bigger blur of years of escapism from the hurtful days of her past. For me, well, I was too closed up -and still am- to really tell. Or maybe it’s too late to dig deeper. And pointless.
Anna is leaving Copenhagen in a month to, maybe, never coming back. But she had moved on way before making that decision. Even when a while ago she started contacting all of her exes, to make peace with them and herself, she didn’t even think about me. I belonged in the blur and was just buried there. And it fucking hurt hearing that. Still hurts now. But the bluntness of this truth erased all hope of a romantic future with her. That made those two hours, talking by the canal, freeing. Enough to being mutually honest, vulnerable and open. No trace of sexual tension, mixed emotions nor “what ifs.”
It wouldn’t have been genuine if things didn’t end on a bad note, though. So I did what I am best at and fucked things up. In the spirit of honesty from yesterday’s reunion, I wrote her this morning to tell her that, on the split second our eyes locked after the last embrace, I felt like kissing her, “Like no time have gone by from the old days.” She feels betrayed, lied to and pissed at me, of course. She can’t understand that, no matter what reason, facts or dignity dictates, I long for those endless days and nights in bed. The sex, the cuddling, the conversations. “That warmth. That quiet acceptance. That familiarity.” Even if that time is no more. Even if those feelings are gone. Even if that Anna and that Eduardo ceased to exist a while ago.
So, this is it, Anna. I know you told me that you feel relieved I didn’t write about you anymore, but I needed to vent this out. The last mourning session of what we once had. And, although I would love the possibility of being with you and having a glance of that connection one last time, before you leave my existence for good; I’m glad that, at least, you took the time for that last goodbye. I’ve got the closure I needed to turn the page and continue my march towards brighter times. I wish you all the best, kiddo. Have a wonderful life.