magical moments
In Madrid I met with the Spanish lady, a lady of tremendous power who cannot be named, and she said to me: ‘You are the origin of your pain!!!’ She was absolutely correct. My pain is self-inflicted. One by one I peeled off tales of my failed romances and my doomed and hopeless longings for those I could never be with (and wanted them probably only because of this fact). Mainly the French lady whom some refer to as my muse. It’s true, I suppose, she is my muse and, since I met her, exactly six years ago, on one of my first days in Madrid, I have thought of her every single day. Every night I go to sleep imagining that she is lying beside me and each morning I awake wishing that the first thing I could see is her face. The Spanish lady closed her eyes and sighed and cursed in Spanish as I poured out my emotional verbal diarrhea. I asked her if she has seen the other, the Bulgarian, but she told me that their paths do not cross. Life is wonderful… from 40…