euphoria

 I found a postcard that I had written 8 years ago, but, of course, I had never sent or delivered it. It was to a girl I worked with in Madrid. She was from Romania but was, essentially, Spanish. She had lived there for many years. I was enamoured, desirous… she was an absolutely spectacular being. The postcard captured some of the beautiful moments that we had shared; breakfast in a tiny kitchen in a quiet corner of the office, sharing cake that her mother had baked, talking at the bus stop, a long romantic walk, arm in arm, a cocktail in the shade under the Madrid sun whilst I touched the skin that showed through a fashionable tear in her jeans. She was magnetic. Absolutely irresistible. Yet, she was also wonderfully helpful and friendly. She helped me to cross-reference and validate the bibliography of my Master’s thesis, a task that I dreaded, and I was eternally grateful for that. Then I left Spain and moved to the USA. I visited her twice after that, but she seemed elusive and, later, became involved and extremely distant. 

                  And so, I lie here on the couch, in Dallas, and listen to the rainfall in Stockport, Greater Manchester, United Kingdom. I was watching Stockport v Wigan in a cup game, but the players were withdrawn from the field due to torrential rain. A life I once lived that now seems so far gone. I have been fortunate in my life… escaping the rain, finding the sun, finding love and passion and desire. Yet, I lie here in Dallas and long for my Eastern European Euphoria.