9. The yearning

I am a winged creature, who rarely gets to use it's wings. Ecstasies do not occur often enough. | Anais Nin

The yearning did not go away. Even though I choose to go on. You see, I was a loyal person too. I had to chose. And I choose for my family, for honour, for safety.

I sat on my balcony. In the sun. Laptop in front of me. Thinking of the conversation I had with my niece, best friend and confidant. Why, she asked.

She had shown me some pictures in a crappy magazine. So he choose too. As he did before and always will. Loyal.

Suddenly it started to rain. The weather in my country must be the same as the city were he lived. Grey most of the year. I had a week before the deadline for the script I was writing. But I had finished it already. Besides being a spoilt brat working for television because my father had some friends I was also good at what I did. So I had lots of work. My husband was not home most of the time. He was successful in what he did. We were a good couple, but we were better apart.

One week. Had to look something up. Made a phone call.

Left a note on the kitchen table. Explained I went to Boston for some days. Maybe Maine too, for a hike. After.

I stood in front the Orpheum Theatre. It was sold out. But I had a ticket.

Still early. Went inside, artists entrance. Like my father says 'not what you know but who you know counts'. He should know.

Wrote a little something on a piece of paper. Asked one of the crew to give the note to the front man. Then I went out again. Stood in the cue with the rest of the crowd.

" I want to love you wildly. I don't want words, but inarticulate cries from the bottom of my most primitive being... "

Show started. I was somewhere in the middle. A face in the crowd. In the sea of people. He sang 'Oceans' and her name. Yes, it pierced through my heart. His voice and the love, ohhh the love for her. But it was magnificent hearing him again. His voice reverberated against my body like a caress.

Such a great show. And even though I heard they hadn't made the setlist themselves I enjoyed every song. Immortality. Blood. The steaming sex he oozed made me almost cry. Memories never die.

After the show I was the one standing in the shade. When they left -a loud group of people, laughing, drunk- he must have seen me, but no responds. Walked past me. Ignoring me. I lit a cigarette, sighed, shrugged. Cold. I was cold. Ice.

When I wanted to call a taxi I felt a hand on my shoulder. The man that I had given the scrap of paper handed me something. Gave me a wink. A carton ripped of a cigarette box. Written on it "...that flow from my body like honey. A piercing joy that leaves me empty, conquered, silenced."

And an address.

I was in New York. The room of the hotel overlooked the river. I was standing at the window, staring at the landscape of the city. Thinking of the mess I was in. He was not here. Yet.

A knocking on the door. I stayed silent. Did not dare to answer.

The lock opened. Soft footsteps on the thick carpet approaching me. A presence behind me. The zipper of my dress going down slowly. His voice whispering in my ear: "I never thought I would see you again. This madness. You silly bitch, don't ever change." Then he grabbed my braid, pulled my head sideways and moved his lips over my neck.

"I dream of making love to you now, baby," he grunted.

"Always. Impossible dream."

As my dress fell to the ground I turned and tangled my fingers into his hair. Looked him in the eyes, said: "You were not meant for me, my angel, my love." With a sad smile on his face he bent forward and covered my mouth with his.

We did not leave the hotel for days. Just touching each other. Caressing. Staring at the ceiling. Smiling. Silly, happy smiles. Drawing lines on the back of my naked body. Listening to his breathing. Studying this beautiful elf-lover. Smoking pot. Endless incomprehensible conversations. Laughter. Wild and unquenchable lust. Oh the love, I was sore from lovemaking.

Of course it had to end.
The telephone rang. He had to answer. With his deep voice: "Hullo?....uhuh...right....okay....uhuh...yes.....no." And then he hung up. Shoulders stooped. A quivering sigh.

"Fuck." Another sigh. "We must leave now. I don't think we will meet again."

A desperate kiss, never to be ended. Breathless we stepped back. Fingers touching for the last time.

The sun rose over the river, the skyscrapers. The reminder of the sea of sensations, silk, skin, eyes, mouths, desire.

On the plane back home I still felt how his breathing was one with mine.

This hollow feeling. Would it ever pass?