Correspondance from T to M
Lyon, France - Bucharest, Romania
I miss the warmth of your skin, the sound of your moanings, the sour cream on your chin, the honesty of your smile.
Despite your angry reactions, your non-willingness to take care of yourself and to realise that you are nicer, smarter, sexier, wiser than you probably think. As I said, I can have my own darkness sometimes, and talking about it is still something that I struggle do to, even with my friends. I have it right now, as I feel that we might not see each other again and that’s why I remind myself that we can’t expect any proper relationship with each other. Maybe for the best. If you think about it, that would be explosive!
But I can’t stop thinking about how special you have been for me, and how special and cool that trip was, despite the feeling of hearing the tick of a clock that would ring when the time is over.
You are so far away from my everyday life, not only in terms of distance. By being connected to you, I have the feeling of being in a small room, that would be existing just for the two of us, disconnected from the rest of the world, of my world, and in which no one else could possibly enter. Babe, I like this place, even if I know that we’ll probably have to move out from it one day. I want to see you again before that day comes. But will that place be really empty even after we leave, or have we left something permanent in it? What is the situation, old Manuela? Do you recall these whispers, these kisses, these silent thoughts?
Do you recall the way we fit, like two single beds that we bound together?
I guess I will.