The Love of My Life

I met B. on Chatroulette. We came across each other on the world wide digital randomness. After many "nexted" penisis, there he was, waving insults to all the uninteresting pass by genitals. I waved him back... One month later, I was flying to France to meet him on the real specific chosen place that is his home. B. revealed himself to be exactly who I'd met on the internet: a wisely silly wonderful man, beautiful, full of life, ideas and ideals. B. is the truth I seek in the world. B. is real. In me and on his own. He is my dream coloured by a whole lot of experiences and thoughts and beliefs that go beyond my imagination, overwhelming me. B. is the book that I have opened. We shared stories and music and bodies and food and films and theories and languages and football matches... We shared ourselves. He opened his home to me, I opened my heart to him. I brought him back. He kept me there. We seized the time. We lived the life. We loved.

--

As you grow up you learn to relativize everything. You seize things in due time and space and relate/ compare them with other things in your life. You appreciate, you don't give yourself in. Nothing is absolute or definitive. You're more conscious of yourself, of your life and your choices, of who you are and/ or want to be. And you are your silly friends, your conservative family, your hectic job, your loud music in your apple green scratched car, your singing Deolinda in the shower, your dancing while sweeping, your huge pile of unwashed dishes, your chair that should be taken to be repaired ages ago, your unread books, your favourite David Lynch movie, your peculiar taste for Mali's music, your beers in the fridge, your carpet in the living room, your friend visiting for a week or two, your yellow suitcase, your late nights on the computer... They are all your choices and you love each one. They are your life. And if you love your choices you love your life, you love yourself. But if you love...? Shouldn't you just appreciate? Not give yourself in? Nothing is absolute or definitive. Isn't it? You're more conscious of yourself now that you're growing... Are you? Didn't you just agree that nothing is absolute and definitive? Isn't that a choice too? Isn't it just relative?

--

I was asked today if I had ever found the love of my life: "Yes, I did.", I said, "Many times." :)

‘I Google You’

I Google you
late at night when I don’t know what to do.
I find photos
you’ve forgotten
you were in
put up by your friends.

I Google you
when the day is done and everything is through.
I read your journal
that you kept.
That month in France
I’ve watched you dance.

And I’m pleased your name is practically unique.
It’s only you and
a would-be PhD in Chesapeake
who writes papers on
the structure of the sun.
I’ve read each one.

I know that I
should let you fade
but there’s that box
and there’s your name.
Somehow it never makes the pain
grow less or fade or disappear.
I think that I should save my soul and
I should crawl back in my hole.
But it’s too easy just to fold
and type your name again.
I fear.
I google you
Whenever I’m alone and feeling blue.
And each scrap of information
That I gather
says you’ve got somebody new.
And it really shouldn’t matter
ought to blow up my computer
but instead...
I google you.

by Neil Gaiman