Yesterday night I dreamt of S. We were outside of an abandoned industrial site where we ran into one another. It was a long-forgotten place full of mystery and opportunity, the kind of place that has a history, a certain charm and some sadness in the broken, graffitied-over walls. I was curious in a soft way about what has happened to her. It made me happy to hear about her and sad that we were no longer together. A form of emptiness overcame me, as if I were a shell of myself and no more.

Lately, I often also daydream about her. I wish I could tell her how much I miss her and how lovely I think she is. I often remember the sweet moments we had, like when she woke me up with a kiss, slept while hugging me, or jumped on me when she found me at a party. Small, maybe inconsequential things, yet to me they convey a form of caring that I’ve had very little of lately. I feel that the little time we spent together has made worthwhile the long stretches of time I spend struggling with life.

I’m re-listening to an artist’s songs that I first heard about a decade ago, and the lyrics “it’s easier to dream with you than to be awake alone or with someone else” ring in my head. He apparently has been in a drug-induced state for the past decade, and though I haven’t been, the texts speak to me. I have given it some thought, and it’s easy to find fun, or intelligent women, or even women who care about me. It’s just really hard to find someone amazing. Someone who takes you to places that you haven’t been and yet you feel safe and at home there. Someone you feel like you could wake up next to every day — and who actually wants to wake up with you every day.

I feel like I don’t belong, and never did. I see all these people having fun, having friends, going out and I see all my friendships erode and all my relationships fail. I have had this from an early age. I was always the odd one out, the one people picked on, the one everyone had to make fun of, humiliate in front of others in order to belong in the group, the group that I was never part of — merely a tool to hold it together. This behaviour of the group was not a question of intelligence, refinedness or any other higher quality of the members. It was true for all peoples and all ages, all the time, every time. Rarely, if ever, did I find myself part of a group where I felt secure, where I could say with confidence that I belonged.

I felt like my friends were just putting up with me, kind of feeling sad for what I had to go through, and were friends only to pity me. I felt the same with S sometimes, that she pitied me, that I was just a burden to her. I felt the same with the others, too. Not all, but many. This realisation, that the girls I date are just like all the others, that they just pity me, only occurred to me recently, but it rings true, and very-very sad. It’s as if I have no escape, not even in close relationships am I free from all this pressure to belong and to look out for the next blow I’ll get, be it physical (in the early days) or psychological. I feel like I don’t belong, not to this place, not to this planet, not to this society. I’m afraid that I won’t change now, that I’ll be an outsider forever, alone, in my own small universe.

I want to go to a conference but I know S will be there. It’s hard to go this way. I can already see her, in the hallways, haunting me. It will be hard to see her, but the conference is about what she has shown me, what she made me interested in. In a way it’s much of what embodied her: intellectually stimulating conversations about things that matter, long chats about the state of the world and the art to express it. I will try my best to go, but I’ll be fearful to stroll the hallways, and if I see her, I don’t know what will happen, how strong or soft will I act, how much will my voice tremble, and how much will I try to express her what I feel. There is no real point in expressing what I feel: she already knows. But I always think that by saying it again, in a different way, and not necessarily in a verbal way, would make a difference. But it won’t.

This amazing site allows to share memories… Memory lane is long and winding. I remember her, the day when we met in a square at a statue. She was waiting for me in the sun, swimming in the warmth of the sunrays. I remember her peaceful pose, the way she put her hand into mine, the time we passed while I was trying steal some time to kiss her but couldn’t, her friends that were amazing but I couldn’t pay attention to.  I felt the distance she put between herself and me, and I felt sad, but hopeful. It was somehow magical, slow,  weirdly restrained, and amazing.

Quand reviendras-tu ?
Dis ! au moins le sais-tu ?
Que tout le temps qui passe
Ne se rattrape guère…
Que tout le temps perdu
Se rattrape plus…

I was walking with some people around and when starting to walk towards a metro station I realized it was the street of S, just around the corner. Strange how you associate feelings with places, how you get reminded of moments by physical clues. I remember the time I went to visit her, the first time, the flower I brought, the jacket I wore, the clumsiness of my behaviour, the love I wanted to share with her, and her story about her sister and her sickness. Memories give weird rides: beautiful and sad, vivid for some detail (like that we didn’t kiss) and blurry for others. It was a long ride home, thinking of her, the good moments, the bad ones, the happy ones, the strong ones, the soft ones. What a ride it was.

It was a good time with S, though. Short, and maybe uninteresting from her side, but I found her to be amazing, beautiful, and every minute she spent with me was a gift that I felt I didn’t deserve, as If I had stolen it from some god and I was afraid I’ll be judged for my transgression. I felt like a thief of time, a cheat whose lies will be found out and exposed, who doesn’t belong though seemingly nobody notices or nobody cares. I felt like a stranger in a strange land where I have no place to be, where others greater than me belong and I have sneaked in, to take a peek and no longer want to leave. A time of happiness, a time of anguish, a time of fear. It was a beautiful time, when I felt like living a life that I could only dream of, a time of stolen moments with her, stolen kisses of her lips and stolen touches of her body. Things I stole to enrich my life, and, having nothing to give (though I tried giving everything I am), no way to compensate her for her losses. I was a thief and a lie, someone worthless in the land of greats, pretending to be one of them while being empty and useless, and, in the end, I was dealt with accordingly. It was a dream I stole for myself… I wish I had more time there, I wish I could dream on.

I broke up with S and now all I feel is a big void. She’s not on my mind constantly, but I think of her, at night, and imagine how it would be to meet her again, in the far future. I long for her, I miss her joy of life, her love of nature, the way she talked about all the fun things happening around her and all the things that didn’t work out for her. I want to be there to share the joy or to console her, hug her strongly, lie next to her. She was beautiful, as always, the last time I saw her, with her new skirt and colourful coat, with a strongly coloured lipstick… it was hard to be there, to say goodbye when all I wanted was to be with her. But I had no choice, I didn’t want to become some sort of friend, meeting once in a while. It would have made me sad. So here I am, with my void, thinking of her, and how I am just a speck of dust compared to her. Thinking of how amazing a life she has with all the nice friends and parties, all that nature that she loves so much, with all the natural beauty she has, and how me and my life pale in comparison.

I looked at a video she showed me of an artist, and the moment came back to me when she was so happy to see me at a party of her friends. I remember her jumping on me from the back hugging me, being happy. I don’t understand why was she so happy, but it was a beautiful moment, a moment I long for now.

Yesterday I sent her a short movie clip. She won’t respond — she never does. In a way, she feels like L, far away, impossible to reach, yet close to me in my dreams. I have to quit, and I will, and I hope I’ll have the courage this time around. I’m having a little party and I don’t think she should be there. But I’m afraid that the moment I see her I’ll reverse my decision and will give up all the time I spent about thinking of her for an evening of seeing her next to me. Not even with me — just next to me.

I met someone I knew before, and… It feels weird. I’m not sure if she is just playing a motherly role or not but, first for some time, I feel interested in her, as a person. She seems to have a depth that is underplayed.  Feels unsure but honest. She is the kind of girl who probably has had a hundred guys waiting in the line — she is the troubled one, the one who is longing for something strong that  can take her and carry her. I see in her what I am: troubled but ready to give, emotionally weak but acting strong.