In the infinity of celestial bodies…

In all the immensity the universe lays before us…

Somewhere out there, I find myself thinking.

Nothing well structured. You know, just electrical pulses scattered across loose connections.

Nothing crazy, really, and yet enough to keep my mind busy.

I think about all the plans that didn’t work out. About the dreams that crumbled over the years.

I think about all the turns I never thought I’d take, but took anyway.

I think about what I believed to be true, but wasn’t. And what was true, but I refused to believe.

I think about the words I wanted to say, but didn’t. Sentences adrift in nonexistence, in the realm of imagination, where they can no longer become real.

I also think about what was said but shouldn’t have… About what could have stayed in the void, but made its way to the surface, where it didn’t belong.

I think about all I wanted to do, but didn’t. And about all I wanted to do, but couldn’t.

I think. I think a lot. I think too much.

And I feel a lot, too. To be honest, sometimes I feel sorry for feeling too much.

Not that I don’t want to be who I am–I’m very comfortable in my own skin.

I’d rather feel too much than not at all.

Even if it means constant agony. Even if I bleed for it, I’d rather see the world in all its colours than in a narrow, monochrome gamut.

It’s no fun if it’s tasteless.

I guess the problem is when I don’t feel anything.

Because this emptiness turns me black and white.

And, honestly… a life in greyscale is the last thing I want.

So I keep on thinking.

And feeling.

Sometimes, with sorrow. Other times, with joy.

But always thinking. And feeling. Not necessarily in that order.

***

As words and images tangle in my head, sensations follow at a similar pace.

Silence fills the space and brings a kind of comfort.

I breathe deeply.

I close my eyes and focus my attention on the rise and fall of my chest.

“It’s all good,” I tell myself.

Whether I believe what I say, well… who’s to say?

The restlessness suffocating me fades, and I fall asleep without noticing.

Momentarily disconnected.

Yet, eternally awake.

With every new pair of irises sitting across some random table,
At a random place,
I hear the same stories wearing different details.
Different voices blending beautifully in unison.
Am I listening to you or to them right now?

It’s not a tragedy either way.
I’m sure my voice is also merging with so many others on your side.

I watch distinct smiles form.
Some teeth are more crooked than others
But they all warm me in their own way.
It’s funny how they imprint on my brain way easier than any other characteristic of yours.

I don’t even know if I’ll ever hear an “I love you” coming from you.
I’m not holding my breath for it.

Are we even going to see each other again?

Does that even matter?

While I hold your hand
And taste your lips
I’m all yours
And you’re all mine.
Our stories don’t matter
As long as our bodies are entangled

This may all end in a couple of hours
Ephemeral like a fleeting dream
Though no one is dreaming.

Our paths might no longer cross
That’s probably the closest we’ll get to our shared happily ever after.

I might take something from you with me.
You might do the same.

Be a stranger.
Or don’t…
If we’re lucky, and flip a coin
What are the odds that we’ll both choose the same outcome?

Before I forget…
When you leave, can you leave the door ajar, please?
I like the glimmer that comes from the corridor.
It reminds me there’s still light out there.
For now I’ll just rely on my own.

The leaves are getting redder with each passing day.

Maybe it’s just leaves getting redder—no meaning behind it.

Maybe it’s a reminder that life’s always changing.

No matter how still things feel, there’s always movement—even if you don’t perceive it.

The temperatures dropped to below twenty now. It’ll be the new norm.

The sunny icon on the weather app is not as prominent as it was not even two weeks ago.

It’ll only get rarer.

But I guess none of these things define what comes next.

It is not a choice per se, but it kind of is.

We get to decide how we are going to deal with colder, greyer days.

I’ve been waking up in different spots in bed.

A few days ago, I was on the other side.

It felt weird, unnatural.

But then I realised: I don’t have a side anymore.

Any side is my side now.

I’ve been dreaming blank.

At least I don’t wake up in the middle of the night anymore.

Well—that’s a lie. Not as often, let me correct that.

Things are back to a steady routine.

And the days keep collapsing into one another.

Nights are calm and normally uneventful.

I haven’t watched TV shows in a while.

I haven’t cooked elaborate meals.

Chicken is still my favourite protein.

And I’ve lost some fat.

I feel stronger than before.

It’s just funny that I don’t have to fight anymore.

It’s like the calm after the storm.

The floor is still wet.

But finally.

Finally, it passed.

I think I was supposed to not talk about it. Or if I did, tone it down a bit.

But I honestly don’t want to tone it down. I want this to be as raw and as genuine as possible, which is why I’m writing this at six in the morning.

Here we go.

I’ll start with the obvious: although I didn’t really want the outcome to be this one, I never wanted us to “hate” each other or bring the worst of ourselves. So, in a sense, and maybe just for me, I’m “glad” we put a full stop on our story before we could become each other’s persona non grata.

It doesn’t mean I’m happy we had to end so that we didn’t eat up what was left of ourselves in the process.

Now, before I start with the good stuff, I need to say I understand that you didn’t really mean part of what you said to me yesterday. Well… Maybe you meant the message itself, but not how you delivered it. It could be naive of me to think so, but I do hope you didn’t want to say “better find a new place fast, because I don’t wanna see your face again”. I get the message—I really do—but I’m not sure you meant to say it that way. One can only hope, right? And no, I’m not playing the victim here. You have the right to think, do or say whatever you want. That’s one thing no one can, or should, take away from you.

I won’t pretend I’m not hurt. I won’t pretend that that didn’t hurt. Not because I’m not giving you the benefit of the doubt—on the contrary. I get that when we are hurt, we say hurtful things just to get a bit of self-respect back—or at least that’s what we tell ourselves. As if tossing sharp words around could somehow heal part of the dread we are feeling inside. It’s bullshit, but we try it anyway. So, no, I won’t hold it against you. It stings more than you think, but I get it, and I respect that.

With that out of the way… Finally, the good stuff now.

Regardless of the outcome, I want to say you brought out the best in me most of the time. And you reignited a flame inside of me that had been too dimmed for way too long. I will always be grateful for that. I’m naming this flame ambition at this time. But maybe in the future I’ll rebrand it as something else? As we look back sometime down the road, things often take different shapes and forms. Colours get more or less saturated. And we see more clearly than before. This is probably what we call growing up after all.

I’ll miss your laugh. You know, that one I say you do like your mum—you shrug and move your head forwards a bit. It’s very sweet and looks so genuine. It’s like watching you with no filters, no hurt, no façade. It’s just you, and it’s beautiful.

I’ll also miss our friendship—the good and the bad of it. We were partners in crime, and, when it worked, I had this feeling we were unstoppable.

For the next few weeks, it’ll be a bit awkward. Feelings will be a bit too raw, and we’ll no longer know how to behave around each other. I’m telling you this because it’s your first time. And hopefully the last! It’s a special kind of awful, and I don’t wish this on my fiercest enemy.

Just try not to play it too cool, okay? As if you don’t care. It’s fine to care. We’re both grieving here. And please, don’t take this as me trying to tell you what to do. If anything, it’s advice, if I still have the right to offer one. Most of my regrets come from this stage in a relationship.

At last, and maybe if you’d ever read this, you’d probably roll your eyes and say I’m not playing fair. And I swear I don’t mean any of this to try to fix anything—it is, indeed, best to stop now.

I still haven’t figured out the colour of your eyes. And I guess I never will. We’ve always joked that the boys had gorgeous eyes. Well, that is true, but it doesn’t mean yours aren’t. Honestly, I’d say they are mostly brown. However, if the sun hits the right angle, you can see a bit of gold and some hints of green—like a hidden forest that shows up now and then before fading away once again.

I decided, at this very moment, that in all my memories of you, from now on, your eyes will dress that colour—an ode to the good times rather than a vain choice of mine, I swear.

Please, make sure to have a great life. I’ll try the same on my side, pinky promise.

When we turn our corners, we won’t be able to spot each other anymore. It’s gonna sting, but it will help the healing.

Then, at some point, the bad stuff will fade away…

And we’ll meet someone else.

In due course, we’ll be nothing but a flicker—if anything—in each other’s heads. A bunch of mixed memories that will blend and become less clear as time flows. There’s nothing wrong with that.

I am sorry that it didn’t work out—that “us” didn’t, that is. It’s frustrating that we didn’t find the sweet spot in our recipe. Something went stale, and now it just tastes wrong. And it really, really is terribly sad.

But know that at some point, it was just perfect.

The sweetest thing for me.

I’ll stick with that, mostly because my heart doesn’t have room for hate towards you. I won’t allow that, no matter what happens next.

I love you—I really do.

Believe it or not—that is up to you.

I’ll miss you on my birthdays, and it annoys me that I won’t be attending yours.

And with this, I think I said enough.

Now we say our goodbyes.

It was a great journey, kind sir.

It just ended short, but it’s best this way.

I wish things were different right now.

I can’t pinpoint what exactly, but it seems like something is off—misplaced.

I’ve been looking at the horizon for way too long. So long I forgot to look a few metres ahead.

Yeah, that made me stumble a few times. Perhaps more than I would have if I’d been paying attention to the present.

Although I keep telling myself that whatever this is, it’s just momentary—that everything is fine even though all feels crappy right now—I can hear the hesitation in my own voice. I can feel it cracking through the words, breaking their meaning into crumbles of meaningless nothing.

I mean… I’ve been openly telling people that I’m not alright. And I’m sure they trust my word. I’ve been telling myself the same. And I do trust myself.

Like a ghost, I’ve been haunted by this tremendous need to flee. To run as fast as I can towards anywhere but where I’m headed. To escape this trap and find my way back to the warm light that I can see, but for some reason can’t reach.

Why can’t I move? Why am I restrained?

Can I fix this?

I’m about to bolt.

My legs are positioned, one after the other.

Chest proud.

Eyes on the prize.

One last deep breath before I go.

Should I go, though?

All I have to do is move forward.

All I need is my feet to do their thing.

Feet don’t fail me now.

Please—pretty please… Don’t fail me now.

These days, while slouching on the couch, I found myself observing my apartment. Though I have been living here for more than two years now, I was meticulously analysing every corner my sight could reach without me having to move.

“Wow,” was the first thought that came to mind. “I live here.”

Don’t get me wrong. I am not bragging. My apartment is a regular one-bedroom far enough from downtown that I can afford it. And that is my first recognition of accomplishment. I can afford a one-bedroom apartment all by myself.

This realization caused me awe for two reasons:

1. I am normally beating myself up, constantly thinking that I am far behind, that I am late, and that I should be more than what I am at any given moment;
2. I am the “keep-going” type of guy. The one that keeps battling, even when the war is over. I just keep fighting, not stopping to celebrate victories or to recognise my accomplishments once in a while.

Nonetheless, surprisingly there was I, not only acknowledging a victory but also celebrating it, praising myself for being where I dreamt to be. It wasn’t easy to get here and for the first time I actually saw that. I comprehended that and assimilated it.

I was stunned. And that felt good. Good enough that made me wonder why I don’t do it often. Why don’t I recognise more my accomplishments instead of dragging myself down for things I haven’t gotten yet? Why do I keep complaining about what I don’t have and completely ignore all the thing I do have, things that were once a dream and now are a reality.

I think this is part of our eternal human duality: Wanting what we don’t have while not appreciating what we do.

I once dreamt that I was going to be who I am today: someone living abroad, being able to afford themselves, having an independent life, and surrounded by good people.

That dream once came true. I guess I was too busy to keep dreaming more, focusing too much on the goal and too little on the journey.

I once dreamed that I was me… And that… That is my everything.

***

For the first time, I look myself in the mirror and I appreciate what I see. Yes, I do have some crowfeet, yes, I can easily spot white hair on my head now, and yes, my skin isn’t as lush.

But that is who I am now. And before I wasn’t as grown up as I am now. I am my own upgrade, and that feels awesome.

Not long ago I thought I was close to my rock bottom, but, in reality, I don’t even know where that is, because I don’t really think I ever experienced it.

It is no longer about waiting for a sunny day to feel complete. It’s about enduring the dark rainy days while keeping my inner light intact.

“Yeah” I gasp in relief, “I think I finally re-found myself.”

Today was absolutely gorgeous. The second day in a row with temperatures above 12 degrees Celsius, accompanied by our not-so-present Sun. We’ve been so lucky: though still one season apart from Summer, we could all say that today was a generous sneak peek of what is to come in three months.

After a nourishing fat breakfast, our group went separate ways much earlier than I anticipated – I must confess – but you stayed with me: our way back home was the same.

It didn’t take long for us to dive into introspective topics. Things from the heart, of course, and also things about our aspirations in life and where we think we are heading. Sure, I may have started the trend but you didn’t fall behind. A fluid and rich back and forth filled our conversation with challenging questions that would make us reflect about ourselves and our lives.

At some point, I share with you what’s been up with me and what’s been occupying my mind lately. Nothing too new or too foreign. Still, novice enough for you to point out an interesting pattern:

“You are too much in your head. ” – you say objectively – “You are thinking too much.”

For a second, this sentence takes me back to the past. Around twelve years ago, precisely. Don, a great old friend of mine, is seated in front of me telling the exact same thing. Just like you did, he would always point out how much overthinking I was doing.

I giggle.

“An old friend would always tell me that. It is funny how it seems I haven’t fixed this since then.”

We keep our conversation going, changing our lines of thought but still deep-diving into ourselves.

Not much longer after, we see ourselves at our destination. We part ways before I can tell, but the relief you brought stayed with me.

Experiences like today’s are what make me feel so glad to be alive. They remind me how complex we are, yet so small compared to the immense universe that swallows our existence.

Nothing is too small to be ignored.

And nothing is so big that it can’t be somehow dismissed.

What determines how the tiebreaker will unfold is the observer. Be it conscious or unconsciously.

***

The new year arrived with the promise of new beginnings, an interesting sense of curiosity and… a little bit of anxiety to experience what would come next.

I must confess that I normally don’t believe in the magic of the New Year. It’s because, logically speaking, we are just crossing one of the multiple imaginary lines in our lives. Just like borders dividing countries or parallels and meridians slicing the globe into cubes. We increment the year counter by 1 and then we are magically granted a boost to restart. When we put things this way, this all sounds a bit too unreasonable.

This year, though, it all felt a bit different. This time, the New Year really felt like a restart. Many things were left behind, with or without my consent, sometimes even without my awareness. I saw my life turn upside down, and then flip around before spinning uncontrollably. What I believed to be solid terrain proved to be as unstable as quicksand. It sounds terrible, I know, but it was a great year. And, hey, I survived. We all did.

I watched broken bridges be rebuilt and, for a glimpse of time, I saw myself reunited with people I hadn’t seen in a while. It was so nostalgic it made me unsure whether I had traveled back in time or if that was just a sweet dream.

There was so much loss, but also so much gain.

I chuckle. “It’s all about balance”, they say. I have to agree on this one.

As we advance to the second quarter of this new year, the year doesn’t feel like new anymore. But the magic is still here. The path in front of me is earthy and rustic but well-lit. The sunlight stubbornly dodges the leaves of the trees ahead making the scene so warm and cozy. The horizon is a bit cloudy, but clear enough for me to be able to guess what’s waiting for me on the other side.

And for a while – man, it’s been a while – I truly smile. Not a halfway half-assed smile. A big bright one.

Because am finally heading towards where I want to be.

And for that, my friend, I couldn’t be happier.

***

I am looking at a blank page, trying to transcribe all these bubbly feelings inside. The urgency to let it all out is strong, so much so that I can’t hold back. Yet, I stutter. All I can get is a set of repetitive words and phrases that I have already used in many of my writings.

I start by describing a scene that depicts how the sunlight is beautifully embellishing the environment, before I can finish this sentence, I press the backspace repeatedly.

When I finally relax, after repeating the process above a few times, I get back to the keyboard eager to fulfill this calling to put my thoughts on paper. Many images and scenes flood my brain, making it so hard to process everything… Memories mixed with made-up stories in my mind flash before my eyes as soon as I close them.

And then I see you. And us. In a blend of recollections and fiction. I can barely distinguish what is real and what isn’t. I randomly feel the jeans jacket you were wearing on that cold night, both of us shivering but not wanting to be the one to call it a night. More and more scenes drench my brain without my consent.

I don’t hold back a giggle. I am scared to death, but can’t really not follow my rule #1: avoid holding back. So I don’t. As reckless as I can be.

“Uh Oh”, I say before I sigh. In one of those “Aha” I realise the obvious.

Yes, I think I just caught a cold.

I’m walking in the rain on my way home. A love song is playing loudly on repeat on my phone for the sixth time now, probably. This couldn’t be more cliché, though I am enjoying every second of it.

I haven’t pressed the eject button, yet, but I have been waving goodbye for some time. Yet, I’m right here, exactly where you are. Why, then, does my heart ache and burn so much?

I stare at the clock and flinch when I think of the fact our ending is approaching. At what time precisely will this chapter close? How much will I enjoy before I go? Will I be able to savour our last kiss? Would I be able to tell you it is the last one?

Well, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. I guess we can agree that it was inevitable. Although I believed our feelings for each other could change the course of our destiny, there was a great chance I wouldn’t be able to withstand what was being offered to me.

It’s because I don’t want to hate you that I need to go.

It’s because I want to think fondly of you, even when you’re no longer “mine”. Cherish all the memories we built together instead of regretting them.

One day, when I all need to say to you leaves my mouth and makes its way to you like a shooting star, its dust trail will light up our hearts for the last time before everything changes.

A weak but sincere smile will seal our fate, leaving behind a case full of unrealised dreams.

Not too long after, light will break this darkness that lingers heavily in the air…

That is because it’s always darkest before the dawn.

So be it.