I will never understand why, when everything is just perfect, we, humans, start remembering the past. Is it physiological, biological? Is it related to menstrues? Do I have to know why it actually comes from? All I know is that last night I was simply blue.
I was blue because I remembered an old beautiful friendship that ended. As strong as I might be, I have to admit the fact that lots of things from my daily life remind me of her, and I am pretty sure that she feels the same way as well. I remember her crazy expressions, the food she likes when I want to order food, her favorite songs when I listen to the radio, the beautiful moments we spent together. The sad fact is I would prefer to die rather than talk to her again. I know that I already did enough. And that now it is up to her. She may not have been the smartest persons on earth, but we had lots of very interesting conversations that you cannot have with average people. The sad fact is again that she left me, her friend and sister, because of a guy, who was too possesive to accept the fact that she had the right to have friends as well. But I guess he was too jealous of our complicity and couldn’t accept that I was that close to her. What do you want, a real jerk… stupidest person ever. Anyway, now, even though miles away from her, when I think about it, it makes me so melancholic, it even makes me cry… simply because to my mind I cry over a dead person, because in my mind she is dead. And I know that we are too proud to try to repair what have been destroyed, and there is nothing we can do to fix what has been broken. Actually, whenever I think about it, I want to believe that there is still a chance, that even though both parties have been so hurt, they can still reconciliate as if nothing happened. What is going to happen? Maybe in few years, we will meet up by coincidence somewhere in this world, and we will try to catch up the lost time that we could have spent together. I miss her because no matter how I love my friends, they would never be able to replace the kind of relationship I had with her. I don’t have a sister, but she was a sister to me. She completed my sentenses and I completed hers. She knew exactly what I was thinking about at every moment, and I knew as well, and we could talk only with the eyes. She knew me more than anyone, and I knew her more than anyone. When we put a term to our friendship, I felt like I’ve never known her. It’s funny how you think you know a person while you don’t know anything. You don’t know that they are so desperate about love that they will be able to deny all their world.
I was blue because I had a dream. A dream that was so beautifil, that when I woke up, I just had to face the sad reality. I was with my grandmother, she was hugging me so hard. She was talking to me. I don’t remember very well what she was saying, but she missed me for sure, and she loved me more than anything, as she used to love me when she still was in good health. When I woke up, I just realized that not only I was miles away from her, but that she was in her house in Rabat, more precisely in her room, that my grandfather was pretending to take good care of her and her sickness while he was only making her look like an invalid to not have to take her out with him, and to enjoy the very last days of her life. I am blue because I remember how she was when I was young. So energetic. So beautiful. So talkative. She always had a story to tell, and when she didn’t, she would tell you a story that you heard already. That would annoy us sometimes. But God, how I would like to hear her telling a story, not even a story, just saying something. She had been sick for the last five years, and all the time, her sickness looks worse. I still have hope that one day my phone would ring and that she would be talking, telling me how she misses me, wishing me good luck in my work even though she doesn’t have any idea what I do, and telling me to take good care of myself. I love her. And I know she loves me. When I was close to her, I could see in her eyes that she would want to talk to me, like the old days. But she was so sad, so tired of herself and of this sickness that kills her everyday a little more that you could feel that she was only waiting for the day of salvation.
Tomorrow, I am not going to be blue. Hopefully. Tomorrow I am going to be happy, because monday is coming closer, and on monday I am going to take four days off to go to Bali, Indonesia.
Z Wonderland 