i just want to be friends

pt. 2

the following days were punctuated by micro-moments of sorrow. in the short rare periods where i was alone and the moments of quiet with him beside me. it was strange to have to do all of this private grieving with the person responsible for your heartache beside you. how i could be in the car with him, listening to a song, and he’d make a comment about how sexy the song was, the perfect track to making out with someone in a club in berlin, before going home together, as i’d realize id never be that person, again. 

as i said: 
micro-moments. 

these were times when reality crept in and it’d hit me how i’d never get to have him in the same way again, how i used to. no more sneaking in and out of his room, no more communal naps, and no more late night episodes of bojack on his couch.

i hated those moments of interrupted reality. 

maybe that’s why id been ignoring my phone so much; notifications perpetually muted. ducking calls and texts from friends and family. because keeping in touch would be affirming reality; that there was a time and space outside of this trip, outside of these days. but eventually i realized what i was doing. updating my friends would be voicing reality, vocalizing what had happened out loud. for the time being it felt safe, unreal, to keep it to myself, ourselves. 

saying it out loud would by definition make it real; produce a before and an after.
and for now it was hard enough to have to think about the now

---

we arrived to the temple around noon. the groovy house music dying with a bang as the ignition turned off. it felt alien to arrive with that energy to the calm mountainside landscape as we stepped out into the quiet, the drizzle still pattering the ground. seeking shelter under the roof of the ticket office and gasping at the price of entry. a cat came round the edge of the house, big orange furry thing, and i knew we would be here for at least another 15 minutes. 

because that was a certainty with him – whenever he saw a cat – he had to pet it. 
and i knew that we would have a 10-20 minute interruption to whatever plans we had.
so we sat there, backs against the wall under the roof, talking to the cat.
at one point it crawled up onto his lap and he looked as if there was nothing he’d rather do in the world
but as with all cats, eventually they get enough and leave, without a fuss 
(im jealous of how sure they are of what they want in that way)
the rain had stopped by now and i gazed up into that ancient lush valley
im not paying that, he said matter of factly, nodding at the cost of entry
you can if you want but i would rather go up that way, he said, pointing to the top of the mountain
i followed his lead and walked on up the trail
(i think technically we were trespassing, but that’s the thing with him: he constantly pushes me out of my comfort zone) 
(and i like it that way)
so we headed up the mountainside. 
the colour-scale of the world reduced to green and blue
we veered off the path, explored the mountain
at one point i made a point to purposefully loose him so i could be by myself
sitting down on a rock, steep on the hill, 
surrounded by flowers and the wind
the sun peaking through 
i tried to think about what would come after this trip
how i would heal
i made plans for what i would do once i got back home
the things that would bring me joy, projects i could work on, friendships i could deepen
i felt strangely hopeful, sitting there
alone at the edge of the world
i meditated a little, gazed at the clouds floating past
took in the mountains, the farmhouse across the ravine, the crumbling temple and the sun on my skin
i think i stayed like that for at least 20 minutes
before i finally got up i pocketed a shell as a moment
started walking up,
i heard him yell my name
walked up to him in silence
what have you been doing, he asked
meditating, i answered
me too, he said
(i hated how in synch we were)
then we walked down, in solemn silence, 
goofing a little
then into the car and off 
destination: palermo
we booked a hostel from the road and i knew, as soon as i saw the pictures of the place, that it was important we’d stay there
managing to get the two last beds
the music blasting and the windows down 
ancora una volta 

---

arriving to the busy city
checking into the hostel  
which is where i met her
kira
my own personal ghandi 
we’d arrived earlier that afternoon, exhausted, sweaty. he took a nap but i had a feeling about the place, an urge to explore. we parted ways and i sat down at the kitchen table in the common room with the intention of writing. but i was offered an italian pastry – and thats where it took off. fast forward a couple of hours and there we all were, a group of ten or so strangers having lively discussions around the table. 
among them kira
a person like a bullet on the trajectory of my own timeline
and this is probably a reduction of her, a downgrading of her width and complexity, but i felt – simply existing close to this creature full of grace and gravitas – that i could get a little part of it myself, by some spiritual osmosis. 
i listened to her for a long time, scared of interrupting, full of respect. perhaps a little frightened too. once i’d read that sometimes when a novice monk is in the presence of another more enlightened master the novice might feel a need to look away, that the power surrounding the master may create some resistance around this person. 
and in the beginning this is how i felt about her, kira. her gravity made me nervous, on edge. dark-haired, androgynous. when she sat down at our table i had to take some time to get comfortable around her energy. perhaps because her security clashed so hard against the insecurity within me. 

so i sat there, listening to her for a long while, with eyes even bigger than bambi, lapping up everything she said about art, life, relationships, politics. how the world tends to open itself up when you’re acting from your own center; that the universe responds and sends people, things, and experiences your way. how it is not your job to take responsibility of how other people perceive and receive you. what you are responsible for is yourself, how you show up in the world and how you carry yourself – your words and actions, never the consequences they might potentially have on others.

but maybe, in hindsight, it was not so much what she said, but how she said it. 
with a sense of self so strong i’d never quite seen it before
during the conversation i interrupted with small questions when i dared, never telling an anecdote myself. until i no longer could hold inside the question that had been burning my tounge for the entirety of the night. 
so i gathered the courage to ask it
can i ask you one thing? i began, 
something ive been having trouble with for some time
she turned her warm brown eyes on me
of course
i began explaining 
how ive been feeling so uninspired, unmotivated. that im a writer, and i feel like the most meaningful and passionate thing that i have – the one thing closest to what i can ever think of as a calling – is writing. and telling stories, stringing words together. i talked about how i’ve neglected this for months, that during this time i’ve been doing other things, chasing cheaper joys – often for other peoples sake. that i’ve been progressively feeling more meaningless, because ive lost touch with the one thing that brought any sort of higher purpose into my life. 
all of this and more i let spill to kira, to our private conversation on the edge of the table, aware of the warmth emanating from Him sitting next to me on my right; busy with another conversation with another part of the table. 
i can see that this is important to you, she began
from the way your eyes light up
and trust me, once you begin writing again – creating your art – you will begin feeling this way again, like you’re connected again
because you’ve done the hardest thing already: 
realized this
i listened to her say all of these things, and more
her mere presence imprinting this sense of hopefulness.
after some time things naturally came to a close
some needed to go to bed, we needed to get dinner
so we went out for gelato
him and i sharing a cup before two pizza slices, eaten on the curb. 
a glowing halo of laughter, insights, and this feeling that this was meant to be hanging over the evening.
but at one point one in the group asks me and him: 
i thought you guys were together? 
a knife to the chest
no, we’re just friends
i let out, after a few seconds
first accidentally in italian and then in english
after we said our goodbyes, switched instagrams
(all the things you do when strangers promise to keep in touch)
i hugged kira extra tightly 
thinking my gratitude towards her could be felt through touch alone 
then we were alone again
watching them, her, walk away
i turned to him and he understood

---

we wandered around palermo the rest of the night. me showing him the city center, the bars below the crumbling facades. 
but i’d been experiencing these strange moods, ever since the late-night conversation in the car: this bizarre inability to talk about easygoing things when i was not in an easygoing mood. 
and in the dead of night on the winding roads of palermo it had become impossible for me to be easygoing. 
i think it stemmed from me landing in my feelings, realizing the situation again. because during the day we’d have a rhythm of where we’d joke, laugh, have fun and experience incredible things together. then these micro-moments of sorrow would come when it’d be impossible for me to be fun and light. 
and when they occurred it was like i could talk deep or i could not talk at all. 
like i had become tinkerbell and could only experience one emotion at a time
so when this occurred, me becoming quiet and unresponsive to his efforts of lighting the mood (an annoying tendency of his), i’d say it: 
i can’t do lightness at the moment
either we talk about serious things or we don’t talk at all. 
and here he would ask 
what do you want to talk about? 
and on the dirty streets of palermo i wanted to talk about serious things.
so we did.

---

next day, setting out from palermo, we had plans to visit a natural reserve. 
the mood was easygoing: 
winding serpentine roads, windows down, a constant azure blue surrounding us. freedom – the happy sexy beat of melodic house from the speakers. 
wonderful sight after wonderful sight. 
we arrived after noon. parking the car, slamming the doors.  
ahead was only the walk along the mountainside, into the preserved ancient green. and then the stony shore below us: sharp cliffs, tall angry waves, a harsh sun. somehow the setting seemed aggressive; as if to point out how turbulent i was. here is the scene but the mood is yours. i thought about the sorrows of young werther, where the descriptions of environment kept being coloured by the protagonist mood. 
and my mood was all over the place. 
we stood for a while, taking in the scene. then began to make our way down the winding staircase, steps cut into the rock. a hand on the railing and that’s when i saw it – a red glossy heart bobbing in the waves. a deflated balloon, never quite making it to shore, stuck in the tempest of the water. it reminded me of another one i saw flying over rome, just a few days ago. another lonely heart loose above the city skyline. that time i was standing in the garden of villa borghese, watching the pearly white sunset. now i was here, high up on the mountainside, among the greenest and bluest sicily could offer. 
thinking that two punctured hearts in less than a week was as obvious a synchronicity as any. 
well, 
maybe three. 
arriving, trying out the water (too cold). setting down blankets, food, strawberry wine. the conversation was light, initially. but i was in that mood again, requiring more effort of me to have a light conversation than a serious one. 
i told him this and he asked me how i was doing. 
i said i still feel empty, strangely disassociated. 
experiencing these brief moments of sorrow. 
we talked, gave each other comfort. said nice things. at one point he mentioned my dearest friend back home and i felt this overwhelming sensation of acute gratitude bursting forth from all this pain. 
i really really really wanted to cry. 
so i did.
grieving for him, us, as he laid beside me. 
i felt a hand on my shoulder and i let it all go
sobbing on that stony beach that would have been paradise in another mood
were it not for this uncertainty, this hollow pain, this paralysing sorrow.
but as always after a while the tears stops streaming and the breathing returns to normal. 
i kept thinking: i don’t know how to fix this. 
which is when that calm post-cry emptiness arrived
and with it a second part to the sentence: 
i don’t know how to fix this, but i know that i will 
and that was the one gift, the one mantra, i could give myself. 
i don’t know how to fix this, but i know that i will.
and i saw that lonely marooned heart again, bobbing up and down, arriving nowhere. fitzgerald came to mind: so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
that lonely heart, caught in the waves, ceaselessly being borne back, arriving nowhere. 
which was when i made up my mind: if i could experience all of this pain inside my body, and still live, still breathe – what is some cold water and high waves in comparison? 
so i stood up. threw of my dress, shoes, and without a word steeled myself for the water. 
i knew i would wade in without flinching, without hesitating. 
so i walked as if with a crown into that unforgiving water and let myself go. 
screaming, laughing, diving under. 
submerged under all that blue, submissive to all that force. 
when i emerged i saw him filming me, smiling. 
to this day it is the most precious video in my camera roll 

---

after the swim, lightheaded, elated, embodied – we begun scaling the cliffs.  
it began as a challenge for him (experienced climber), but i felt the itch too, so i followed short, abandoning my duty as camera woman. but it was hard work: first having to swim out to the lowest point where you could climb up among the rough waves. i tried once, twice; never quite making it high enough to not get thrown off with the water. but the deus ex machina happened in real life – the appearance of an italian god – tan, tall, kind brown eyes, dark curly hairs and speedos. 
im impressed by your willingness to get up, so let me help you, he began. 
asking me first if his help was welcome. 
it was. 
the sicilian god guided me up, told me how to think, how to move in the waves, where to place my hands. He was nowhere to be seen (much higher up), so i climbed with the god. put your hands here, like this, he told me in that rolling accent. and now here, with your leg, push. 
i pushed and i grabbed, climbing like a kid. liking how strong my arms felt and how steady my legs were, the rush and excitement from climbing outside and without props – no chalk, no shoes, no soft mattresses to land on. the stone was rough and every move mattered, one bad call and it’d be over – a short fall into the unforgiven waves and my head smashed like a watermelon against the rock. 
but i did not fall, i climbed higher and higher, welcoming the exhaustion in my muscles. 
thinking this is what it meant to be alive. 
ok, the god said. 
you can rest here now, 
continue when you want. 
id reached a little precipice in the rock, wide enough to sit down on. i turned and leaned back, a little seat cut into the mountainside. 
and that’s when i saw them: 
the hostel group from the other night –
and kira. 
they yelled at me, i yelled back. 
i heard Him yell from above too and looked up, laughing. his glittering eyes matching mine. 
completely understanding one another

---

so i got to see her, once more, on the beach that day. 
i had no idea that they would come here, thinking they were going elsewhere, on a different trip. 
so when i saw them walking out onto that stony beach, the universe smiling upon me, i jumped off the cliff, ran right up to them, embracing her. 
ive begun acting like you, i told her, smiling big. 
(unapologetically myself)
i can see, she answered, emanating warmth. 
so we got a whole other day together, of calmness peace and gratitude. 
at one point we climbed up on the rocks, sat down to lap up the last of the rays. 
at that point i asked her another question that had been burning inside. 
do you have any advice for heartbreak? 
she turned to me, averting her eyes from the vast ocean ahead. 
it is recent? she asked
yes, i answered. 
very. 
i did not tell her about Him. just that it had recently happened, that it was my first time falling in love, first time falling out of love. 
she turned back to the ocean and began talking. about how it sucks, of course, how painful it can feel. admitting that she was nursing a broken heart herself. 
but that the love that other person gave you, she began, 
you can give yourself.  
you have all that love within you, she said, 
everything nice they gave is still there. 
i smiled. 
but i think you know that already
and i think you know what you need. 
yeah, i said, 
i think so too
sometimes its just nice to hear it from someone else. 
she agreed. 
we turned our eyes on the horizon.
acutely aware of how small we were, how small our pain in comparison to the vastness of the world. 
i heard Him laugh and looked over, the others, playing in the waves. 
i climbed back without kira, reaching the bottom, looking up. 
her curved profile against the jagged rock. unruly head of brown curls against the sharp lines of the stone. 
i waved at her, she waved back, and looked back to the ocean. 
i grabbed my camera and snapped a picture. 
knowing id always remember her like that, perched above the world. 

---

laying on the beach that day, bellies full of strawberry wine and apricot cookies, he told me: 
you know how i once told you im a storm?
its fun getting swept away until you land
i remember, i said
he paused 
neither needing to verbally point out that the storm has calmed 
and ive landed to find my whole reality upturned by the roots 

---

last day: catania. we had sought shelter in a park to take a nap (late night, early morning). when he woke up i hadn’t slept a thing, just laid there and enjoyed the grass, the sun. i sensed he wanted to leave but i asked for more time, he began reading. 
read for me, i said. 
he sighed. 
but then he complied. 
he had brought with him a book i had read two years ago, when i was living in the same city but was a completely different person. id been curious about it for a while, thumbing through it when he was not looking. 
he read me a passage from the short story i’d loved the most, about a band road-tripping to munich. 
in all he read a mere three or four pages, but i remember lying there, soaking up the sun, the words and his voice – his warm shoulder against mine. 
it felt as if time stood still and all that existed was that moment. 

three things hit me from those pages: 
first – they’re having a conversation about religion, about nature. how going into the forest for them feels like a physiological need to be performed; like eating, peeing, sleeping. like a limb that is inseparable from one’s body: “We took the road by the High Coast. It felt luxurious to see the incomprehensible beauty, knowing we weren’t worth it.”

second – they’re talking about beauty, about the value of being attractive. the protagonist is gazing at a couple, describing how one of them looks so content, so possessed and worthy from solely being in the vicinity of the others grace. “There was something in that image id never owned, that id never gotten a part of. The aesthetical prize. That ones physical being could be like a glass of wine or a cup of coffee, something that could be longed for, something that heightened another person’s life by simply looking a certain way. That the other person could feel proud from just standing near.”

third – they’re talking about relationships, what makes them work and what doesn’t. one of the characters is describing their girlfriend, and how he understood she was going nowhere when she was yelling at him, telling him off for something: “Like she had invested four million in a house renovation and now she was getting started. Now we’re doing the kitchen, no matter how disgusting it is there’s a beautiful wood floor underneath it. That’s how she makes me feel… She makes me feel like there’s wood underneath. I can’t find it myself, but she can.”

now, 
hearing all of these things now (again, two years later), being read by him, in the situation we were in – made all of those things hit even harder. first; id been carrying around this feeling of unworthiness from all of the beautiful sights we’d seen, all the incredible scenes we’d gotten to witness – knowing i was not worthy but that i could be. second; how it stung how relatable it felt, that sense of worthiness id gained from just being near his beauty, his poise. how good i felt about myself because him, in possession of all of that, had chosen me (not a winner of the aesthethical prize) – and how it felt now when all of that had been taken away. & third; how i could so clearly see the wood that was buried underneath him, how i so desperately wanted to be part of the one that torn off that old moldy carpet to discover the old ancient wood underneath. i knew now that it was not my place, that he would have to do the renovation himself. and it sucked to see all that potential that he couldn’t see for himself. 

he stopped reading after the wood-passage. i heard him put down the book, his warm shoulder losing contact with mine. he mumbled something about renovation but i could not hear him. 
what? i said
never mind, he answered. 
i tried to push but he brushed me away. 
im sure he was saying something in reference to the book, about us. i wanted to tell him how i knew there was wood flooring in him, how i could see it and know it so clearly – if he just applied himself, dug in, invested. but i knew he wouldn’t believe me, that it would land wrong. perhaps he wanted to say the same thing about me and that’s why he flaked, or he was just making a bad joke. to lighten the mood, as always. 
i did not push him on it, even though i wanted to. 
eventually we rose, tidied up, walked away. 
the sun the words the tremor of his voice still painfully imprinted on me 

---

its strange how we’ve come each other so much closer, right? 
he said to me on the way to the airport 
how despite what’s happened we know each other better now 
he looked at me as if for confirmation 
id thought about this too
so i nodded 
i guess that’s what happens when you lay all your cards on the table, i said
because at the moment i had no more left on my hand 

---

flight: 
him switching seats so he could sit next to me 
falling asleep on my shoulder
i light the overhead lamp and open my notebook
and i don’t stop writing until we’ve landed 

---

on the bus-ride from the airport to the city center, one question pervaded my mind, six words that i needed to ask him. the grey beige landscape of home flitted past; mud, thawing snow, tired trees. the milieu as dismal as we were. in my seat, the question burning on my lips, i finally gathered the courage – what did i have to lose? 
and i let out those six words id been preparing for days: 
have you ever been in love? 
they landed on the accumulative quietness, the heave of the bus and the sounds of passing cars. 
he looked up from his phone. 
taking a few seconds to answer
yeah, once 
maybe one and a half
no, one time. 
he paused 
but you know that already
if i had known it i wouldn’t have asked, i answered 
(i knew)
why? he urged 
just curious, i said
the sounds of the bus and the traffic emerging again 
i urged on
how did it end? 
he looked out the window to the left
how do you mean?
he looked at me
(he knew what i meant)
i didnt answer 
i broke up with her, she didn’t meet my needs
but that’s not what you meant
no, i said
he sighed
i don’t think i ever stopped loving her, i don’t know if you can 
i just know that those feelings are still there, and i care very much about her
i don’t know, he said again. 
i turned to the right, rows of grey trees outside the window
i sensed he wanted something 
have you ever been in love? 
(he knew the answer)
i hesitated
yeah, once, i think. maybe
i turned to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed
you think? 
but after everything we’d been through i didn’t have the urge to hold anything in anymore
no, i take it back, i said
yes 
that’s my answer
he hummed
the unnoticed quiet again
can i ask? he begun, 
never mind
what? i said
he swallowed
i wanted to ask how it felt but i don’t know if im the right person to have that conversation with 
i thought about it
he was probably not the right person to have that conversation with. but at this point we were without rules and guidelines because we were us so i continued anyway 
maybe, i said,
but ill tell you anyway,
a little bit
so i told him
how all logic flies out the window, how every emotion in your body heightens to a point of rupture; how physically painful it can feel to not be in the other’s presence, how surprised i was to discover that people can actually get things done when they’re in love, because for me simply being in love was a full time job. 
and you? 
completely mental, he said, and explained how he physically wanted to merge with the other person, be as close as possible. he’d have trouble concentrating on anything but her, to the point of remaining in school because he so desperately wanted to leave so he could be with her instead. 
when i love i love hard, he said. 
and that was a knife to my chest.
outside the dismal landscape had changed into a dismal city. the bus was winding through busier roads, familiar streets. 
which is where i saw another one: 
a pink metallic heart
floating in the beige of all that dead grass 
fucking synchronicities, 
i echoed him 

---

arriving home – 
he opened the gates, walked inside. i stood back, still outside the fence; still technically on the trip. he had walked back into reality as easy as anything. 
when he noticed i’d stopped he stopped too. 
i just need to stand here a little bit longer, i began. 
to process and prepare. 
i know, he said, gazing at me. 
i watched the facade, the fading pink and brown, the parking lot and the garden. from one of the windows i could see one of our housemates waving at us. 
i looked at him, knowing he felt exactly what i was feeling. 
i dug my camera up from my backpack, 
final shot, i said, as i rolled the last image
fitting, he said, 
snap. 
but it didnt close right, couldn’t load.
i think i ruined the last image, i said. 
synchronicity, he said
i wanted to punch him. 
more like extremely fitting, i answered, and took a photo with my phone instead. 
he didnt ask me if i was ready, i knew he would let me stand here as long as i wanted. 
i took a deep breath and walked inside, crossed the invisible border between one reality and another. 
up to the door, up the stairs, fumbling with the keys. 
he opened the door and we walked inside, stopping in front of the kitchen, the sounds of our housemates muffled through the door. 
im not ready for this, he said. 
me neither
he took a deep breath
i did too. 
then he turned the handle and we walked in, 
with a new kind of sorrow into a familiar room

---

when we get home the art of loving is waiting for me outside my door. i walk inside and light a candle, the one smelling of lilacs that he picked out for me in ikea.
a candle i thought i’d light under very different circumstances. 
on a trip i had very different expectations for. 
although things didn’t turn out as i hoped they would, 
i don’t regret anything. 
i did what i came here to do: 
turned the uncertainties into certainties 
even tough it was brake it rather than make it 
i open the book
“In the act of loving, of giving myself, in the act of penetrating the other person, i find myself, i discover myself, i discover us both, i discover man.”

i had discovered. 

---

the issue with being best friends first, lovers second, means that when the latter breaks your heart, you want to seek comfort in the former (a habit). but that’s not how healing works. you can’t seek comfort from the scorpion that stung you. 
he would come to me when he felt down but i knew that i couldn’t do the same. 
despite all the illogic of us at least i knew that

---

the day after we got home i began wearing my mothers old engagement ring on my left ring finger. the one she was given by my dad, before he changed his mind.
i wear it now. even though its heavy and thick and far too precious for everyday use. 
i wear it now to remind myself 
that it is i, that i put first
that i am the eye of my own storm. 
because in the sanity of that calm center 
i begin to think: 
this was meant to happen
this was meant to happen so i could learn this lesson
discover all of these things about myself
this is what i tell myself
when i sleep alone and watch him live a separate life, beside me.

and that was the end of that story, folks.

the story of this heartbreak of mine.

i think its funny how this little substack turned from being little lover-letters of sentimental musings, into letters of sorrow and heartbreak.

but perhaps this is where love leads us, in the end.

love dissipates and hearts snap.

what matters is what we do in the aftermath.

and i?

i write.

and hopefully continue on.

see you in the next on,

love,

e.