This memory of you

[This is a work of fiction.]


You always used to sit on my right. I remember how much I loved to turn my head and look at you while talking. You used to tell me how you spent your day, talk to me about your past, make dreams about our future together.

You were the one who always started talking and I would complete your sentences. I cannot ever remember you saying something that would make me disagree or make me feel like I wanted to say something completely different.

We used to spend all our summer nights like this, on the narrow balcony of my small apartment downtown. Just the two of us with a bottle of frozen white wine, talking and laughing for hours. Always until some neighbor from another apartment complains about the noise and we had to get inside. We used to call my apartment our little oven cause it was too damn hot those nights.

Closing the doors and getting inside we used to feel like children being punished for something they had done. We would then go to bed and make love, and then continue talking all night long as if we needed to say everything to each other. We would talk until we fell asleep one in each other’s arms. And this is how we would wake up each morning, one in each other arms.

Everything was amazing. Almost magic. I had never felt like this before. It was so great that I could not even recall how my life was without you.  I remember feeling that it was worth being alive just to spend some more hours with you.

It is summer already and I still live in the same apartment with that narrow balcony downtown. Maybe this is why today of all the times that I met you on my way to the office, I had that memory of you.

Now, everytime we meet I say hello and ask about your news just like I do with everybody else I once knew.

This is how I feel about you now. You are just somebody that I used to know. Somebody that I pass by on my way to the office. Somebody that I passed by on my way of living my life.

It was only today that I had this memory of you. The memory of a love that no longer exists.

What is left behind

[This is a work of fiction.]

Three photos. That is all that’s left from you.

Back then, taking photographs was much harder than now. You had bought that film for that last college party. While placing the film in the camera, you remembered we had no photo together, just the two of us. See, we always used to care more about living our moments, not taking photos out of them. You took those three photos yourself using your long arm while hugging me using the other. We were supposed to choose the best out of them. 

Along with those photos there were also some of your stuff. One t-shirt, your desk, some books. At the time I could swear that I would keep them forever. I wanted them to remind me of you.

Two years later I had already gotten rid of them. I did not even care much about letting them go… 

We had a plan. You were supposed to leave only for a year or two. We would still be in touch, call each other, try to meet from time to time. Yes, you were supposed to visit me back home and I was supposed to visit you there. 

We had made these promises. Promises we felt we needed to give to each other, to make the pain of separation smaller. All these endless hours I used to spend at work after you left. There seemed to be no reason to leave on time any more. You wouldn’t be at home waiting for me. 

Those first months I used to get back home really late at night. Tired to hell. So tired that I couldn’t even think how much I missed you. So tired that I would fall asleep as if I was falling in a small coma every time.

I remember how mean and indistinguishable everyone seemed to my eyes when they kept on asking about you. 

Where is he?

How is he doing there? 

I used to give fake answers smiling, hoping secretly that they hadn’t spoken with you. I used to lie to them. I used to lie to myself as well. I didn’t want the truth to be heard out loud. 

The truth is that I never even saved your new number. I can still recall the old one. Even if I wanted to forget it, I never could.

But what about the new one?

I tricked myself by telling him that I just forgot where I wrote it. I never meant to call you anyway. 

To be honest, I don’t even know if you ever called me.

I never pick up the phone from unknown numbers.