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… but, you see, I have these scientist’s voices ringing in my head and they are saying ’30 years. We have 30 years left.’ I can’t help but wonder why people have children. But was it the same in 1890 when the railroads were being built and society thought that mankind was doomed? A period that spawned such enchanting works of literature as Frankenstein and Dracula. Speaking of scientists… last night I cycled home from a light dinner in the nearby square and, on the bike path, came face to face with my beautiful ex. She waved and smiled and said hello, and I waved and crumbled and said hello. It was upon the very path we walked on, holding hands in the rain, two winters ago, shortly after we met. The walk was insanity because the path was covered in ice and rain was falling heavily. Her balance was perfect and yet I kept slipping. I kept stopping to check if she was okay. She was wearing a woolly hat I had loaned her and rain drops were rolling down her face, yet she seemed undeterred. It was a magical moment.


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