Monday, August 02, 2010

About words and feelings

About words and feelings

I went to a restaurant and ordered a good dinner. I was alone in the old city where we had met longtime ago, she and I. There were some young lovers at the restaurant and watching their games and their joy I remembered us longtime ago.

Who says that love doesn’t exist? It may just be a fantasy, but what’s wrong with fantasies? Is life itself anything but a fantasy?

I drank a lot. The dinner was not bad, except for the meat, that was not very good. Then I thought: so many things work well in our lives; but love, like the meat at my dinner, is what fails to deliver. I was not bitter though. I walked alone in the old streets of the city thinking of her and sometimes my legs were a bit confused. Yet in my mind everything was fine and clear.

You did not love me, it’s just a fantasy, she said. It’s flattering, I agree, but you are misleading yourself and misleading me. Whatever, said I. 

She didn’t believe anything I said.

I understood what she was trying to say: I never loved you, what happened between you and me was just a fantasy. I talked to myself: OK OK.

I did not dare to say: tell me what you learned about love after you left. I will learn with you again.

When we met she was a young girl. She didn’t know much about love, she didn’t know much about life either. And yet she knew more than what was needed.

I think I loved her because of her lack of knowledge. To see in her face the pleasure of discovering and to see in her eyes the joy of learning made me very happy. I was learning with her. Until then there were many things in the so called reality that I ignored.

What did I know myself about life and about love? Not much. But she thinks that being older I knew more about it than she did. I am the sinner.

I can’t go on arguing with her about her feelings or my feelings. What for? They will not change. The label you put on feelings is just a label, nobody needs to know what is inside the box anyway.

Our conversation was full of misunderstandings. Instead of talking, we were discussing the meaning of our feelings of many years ago and the meaning of the words we were using. I am not a dictionary. I don’t believe much in dictionaries either.

Build your own dictionary: free yourself from other people’s power, mistakes, misjudgments and ignorance. You only live once.

Maybe she wanted me to say once and for ever what love is.

Maybe she wanted me to recognize that I did not love her.

Why all that fuss? I don’t know.

Maybe she wanted me to get rid of her. Then she would again sleep peacefully.

I didn’t know more about love than she did, I still don’t know more about love than she does. But I will never say that I didn’t love her. No way.

Sometimes it seemed that what she wanted me to understand - so many years later - was that she finally knew more about love than myself.

I don’t know much about anything. Everyday I discover that I don’t know anything about almost anything. In getting rid of false knowledge I believe I get closer to the truth.

The truth is that we don’t know anything at all. We just invent stories and sometimes, for a while, we are happy with the stories we tell ourselves and retell to others..

I am very happy, she said, I go swimming with my friends, the lake is so beautiful, my life is very simple and I am very happy. I believed her.

Did I ever say that she was not very happy? No, I didn’t. She was answering herself, not me.

I don’t know much about her anymore, she is the one who is telling me what kind of person she is and what her life is like.

You don’t believe in commitment, she said. I didn’t answer. If I wanted to take the risk of answering her, I would most probably say: no woman loved by me ever loved me enough to keep me happily and desperately a slave of her love; they all accepted to go on living without me. So, what are we talking about?

I was tired. Tired of talking. Tired of thinking. Tired of trying to understand. Then suddenly the rain started to fall in the sunny city. It was amazing. I went out and took pictures of girls and boys running in the streets to escape the rain.

I spent most of my life alone. That’s why sometimes, for a short interlude, I have been rewarded: I was allowed to feel love in a strong, misleading and disturbing way. But she thinks that I am unable to love and to commit.

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