True love

September 21st, 2012 § 0 comments

I woke up again this morning and went by the hotel. I can’t help myself really. I know it’s wrong, I know that I need to stop doing this, punishing myself, but I just can’t. There is an excruciating pain that fucks me up when I don’t see her, when I don’t know if she is OK, what she is wearing, how her eyebrows are raised. I hide behind the old tree, where we used to hide as kids to kiss, and I can see the office and the reception and the courtyard. I can even hear her alarm in the morning.

Here’s how it goes. I get to the hotel early, about 10 minutes before she sets her alarm. Nobody is up that early and even the young guests are long gone to bed by then. Not that they would see me in their drunken state when they get back from the town. Anyway, I love going there early. I keep thinking that I will catch glimpses of her dreams. Sometimes I stand under her open window and listen to her breathing. I pray that one day she will whisper my name. I pray that I will hear the gentle sound of her sheets while she turns and calls my name, calls me to her, to hold her, to breathe in her scent.

Her scent.

That smell, that smell I miss and go back for every day. I don’t mean her perfume, she changes that often. Not even the smell of her hair spray, or her make up or her body cream. I mean the way her body smells, I mean the way her sweat smells. The smell between her breasts. The smell between her legs. Any smell that is hers, that trickles out of her like mastic trickles out of the tree, drop by drop, to form precious tears on the bark.

When I can, I get into her room. When I know she has gone to town. I just jump through the low window and quietly just stand there, in her room and drink in the smell. I once closed the window, I didn’t even want the smell of the sea to invade the space. I opened her closet and came as close as possible to her clothes. But heaven, heaven was only on her sheets, on her pillow. Bliss, a little bit of eternal happiness. I cried. I still do sometimes when I remember.

Smell is a weird thing. I will be walking in town, somewhere, or even travelling. And suddenly I will smell her. She is nowhere near. There is nothing that smells like her, it’s true, nothing similar but there it is. It stops me in my tracks, it doubles me up. Once it happened to me while I was in Frankfurt for 3 months. I hated that contract, I didn’t want to take the job but there was not other way. Away from her for so long, it was agony. One day, just as I was walking up the stairs to my horrible apartment there it was, her smell. It was so sudden, so vivid, so hugely unexpected. I think I became hard by just drinking in that ghost of an aroma and then I broke down. I hit my knees against the step but I didn’t care. I cried under the yellow sickly light of the stairs, huge sobs, huge tears on the grey steps and not even one fucking German opened the door as I banged my head against the wall and curled up into a ball until I could calm down.

You may not understand but it is physical. It is beyond me. It is as if when I touched her she left something of hers inside me. Whenever I am away from her that part wants to be reunited with her, go back to the source, the woman, the womb. I have a child, a child of love inside me and it pines for her. I hear its heartbeat when I sleep, when I eat, when I swim. It cries in the sleepless nights. I hear its laughter when she is near. I need to go back. I just do. I need to see her again and again if I am to be alive.

I hope. I hope she will never discover what I do but I do hope that she will look for me, she will miss me. I dream that the creature inside me will call her in her dreams. She will get up from her bed, she will open her red door. It WILL be a full moon night. The wind WILL bring her smell to me before I see her walk across the courtyard. And then she WILL be mine.

————

Courttia made me do it

Tagged ,

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

What's this?

You are currently reading True love at Sofia's Little Stories.

meta

  • ΒΙΒΛΙΟ ΚΑΙ ΔΩΡΕΑΝ EBOOK

  • Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.