The memories

​“Did I peak?” I asked myself the question, as my fucking iPhone decided to remind me this morning what my August 2019 looked like. “Oh fuck off, phone!” I said, quietly, as I swiftly closed the Photos app, which was pretty much putting salt in my wounds with a happy song and a slideshow of my ex C in a bikini, on our trip to Spain. So, of course, the question now remains: Did I peak?
I’ve pushed my luck way too far, I reckon. Though I could say the politically correct bullshit of “All women are beautiful,” I’d be lying my ass off if I did. No, they aren’t. Just like not all men are handsome and not all people have “A little something.” So, that being said, I have had the pleasure (and balls) to have been with some very attractive and objectively gorgeous women. But they weren’t my type, just because of that. Most of them lacked this more intangible quality; some greatly subjective but outstanding feat that would have made them stand out from the rest.
I remember the first time I saw my ex L, for example. Not the first time we met, nor the second time we ran into each other, randomly. No, that was just noise. The first time I saw her, really saw her, was on our first date. Glasses off and a beer in, on that shitty bar in Plaza Yungay. Lit just by candlelight, that cold winter evening, her naked face murmured to my soul: “I love you.” My spirit didn’t panic. It leaned in, played it cool and whispered back “I love you too.” It was all too sudden, extremely rushed. But it was set to become true, further down the line; through long sleepless nights of passionate sex, gentle cuddling and endless conversations.
Years have gone by, and there are still traces of this feeling in me. I can scientifically inspect her face, her features, her body type, etc. I could even agree that she’s not what’s considered attractive, in the zeitgeist. Yet I cannot ignore her beauty. Because it doesn’t come from my eyes nor my mind; it comes from my heart. I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to look at her differently. Once she entered me, she never left.
A similar process happened with C. Though it has been more drastic and its impact have gone deeper within me. Which explains why I was completely off for most of today, at work. I know I’ve made the choice of letting go. I mean, I’ve made the exact same decision many times already. But her pictures trigger that animal within me: The Beast of Emotions. And this mythical creature doesn’t care about logic nor reason. She’s consumed by the memories of the time when my ex satiated her. When all my sexual fantasies were consummated, one after the other. When there was never a dry spell nor a lack of skin. The Beast only cares about that, and not any of the reasons of our demise.
My ex was in her physical prime on those pictures. And I was fortunate enough to enjoy that prime. Sure, there was shit wall to wall, which inevitably made me break the relationship up. But that’s the problem with emotions, specially affection, lust and the sense of familiarity. You always want more of them and they become an obvious part of your life… Until the one person who fulfilled them is gone. And you are left like me now, hungry for that delicacy you will never savor again. Desperate to find a replacement, and punished by every new iteration of disappointment that comes from this failed search. New women who never get any closer to whom you are so hopelessly trying to forget. Arms never so strong, shoulders never as wide, skin never as warm and eyes never so dark. Sex never so good nor as often as you’d like.
The future looks gloomy, from where I stand. The fear of having got the best, and having ran out of options is daunting and feeling all too real. I know I’m being a bit dramatic. And this rant is in no way, shape or form trying to paint C as an almighty lover, or The One. The truth is that, frankly, we are better apart than together. She’s doing great in her career, for what I could gather from her LinkedIn profile. And she’s also happy, as per her Facebook page. And me, well, I’m anxious and miserable, as you know. But I don’t feel hopeless. Insomnia is getting better and, although work still is stressful, I’m getting the hold of it, at last.
I do think I peaked, though. Perhaps I’ll meet someone who’s gonna make C pale in comparison. I’m secretly counting on that, if I’m honest. Otherwise, depression would be the only viable option. But, other than that, I’m certain I’ll never have a six-pack again, nor I’ll be able to fuck three or more times a day, as I did with my ex. My gut is getting bigger and my dick, well, it’s yet to prove me wrong. Though, if I am on the way down anyway, it’s good to know that I was with one of the best out there. Job well done, Eduardo! At least I have the memories, now in the end.

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