Flying

I'm not talking about birds. Nor airplanes. This kind of flying that I'm talking about has coordinates higher than those of a birds or airplanes flying. It surpasses the sky and the clouds and the heavens.

"Dear passenger, it's your captain speaking. We are currently at a height of no one counting how many meters. On your right side you can see clouds made of dreams. In a few moments we will pass by the River of Love, which flows calmly and incessantly. On your left side you can see a flock of wild Angels which are sleeping on their beds made out of hugs. You are surely familiar with the intoxicating scent of perfect sex mixed with a fragrance of happiness. Our flight attendants will now serve you the sweetest cookies in the whole universe with the taste of kisses. Your captain wishes you a pleasant flight."

You see, I'm not an angel. Not even close to that. How do I know? Angels have wings. I don't. I've lost my wings somewhere along the Path of Life while I was passing through the Walley of Death and breaking through branches full of Thorns of the Loss of my loved ones. Very few people know that humans are born with wings. Angels have to deserve them. It's sad that humans don't feel or see their wings, but still they lose them gradually somewhere through life. A human who is aware of his own wings is a real rarity. She is one of them.

Ever since I met her, I began to remember my wings. By her side was the first time I flew after such a long time. Her wings have such a wingspan that I can tuck in underneath them and fly with her as if I had my own.

My only mistake was that I was terribly afraid of the fall. Not the height. Not the fact that she will let me fall. Not even the fall itself. I was afraid of the feeling of losing certitude, losing the ground beneath my feet. I was afraid that the blow to the ground of reality will hurt tremendously, despite the height of our flying. It took me a long time to break free, let go and give in. Give in to her. Nearly eight months long.

She never minded the fact that I don't have wings. The point was in flying. Together. In the beginning she said to me something like: "Sorry, but I don't plan on letting you go." And I believed her. We are on the same page, same chapter, I'm just a slow reader.

Somebody once said: "If you can't give me wings, bring the sky closer to me." Nobody can give you wings, you silly girl. One can only take you under his own and you can fly together forever in happiness. She taught me that is the point of everything.

Her touch is freeing me. Her touch is moving me.

It's interesting how I can just sit there and watch our hands playing with each other for hours.

She said she won't bother me while I'm writing. But, here I am, writing a little, watching a little, the delicate skin on her back, just waiting to be caressed and kissed. I have the need to touch her all the time.

I love the way she smokes a cigarette. No joke, sometimes I wish I was that cigarette. Although, sometimes I am.

Just one motion of her hand from the beginning 'till the end of my back is enough for my body to wake up and tell her "yes." At the same time, she calms me and tells me that it's alright, that all the puzzle pieces are at their place.

I wasn't always so lucky to share a bed with the person I'm in a relationship with. But then she came into my life. Everything was so natural with her. Normal. And I was hooked. Hooked on her touch, her lips, her imminence.

Coming to her apartment was an escape from reality before. Like I've created a bubble in which no one else exists, besides us. It was like I was stepping into another world when I went through that door, a parallel universe in which only we live. I don't have that feeling anymore. It's not a bad thing. It just means that it has become reality. Present. It's tangible. Real. I want to stay here. I had a feeling like we were already living together. And it's a great feeling.

I could get used to pink shelves in her kitchen, her pink ottoman and her pink sofa cover, her pink ironing board and pink picture frames, and everything that's not pink. And I was used to all of that. I don't know in what lies the source of her powers, but it's certain that she has some kind of power that I finally got my wings and I was flying beside her. Things are just as they are supposed to be. I'm at peace.

It's been two years since we've seen each other last time. It's still haunting me. I don't know if I still love her, or I can't get over the fact that she'd left me without a word. Not one single word. It hurt me because, to be honest, I was always the one to leave. And I was always leaving with a bang. With a lot of words. All kinds of words. But her... Nothing.

She has marked that year of 2017, which I'll remember as long as I live. She has turned me 360 degrees and I haven't been the same since. I'm still often angry at her. I wonder if she'll ever get a tattoo of Tinkerbell which I had drawn for her. Especially for her. So specially mad, with her nose held high and her arms crossed in front of her.

Does she think of me? Does she miss me? Does she hate me? Could she? Is she capable of such a thing, hate?