Good luck and see you later

I'm not sure, but I think we met in 2014. I didn't pay much attention to it. I was happily tied and he was part of a "showbiz" guild that I always preferred to stay away from.

Musicians, like poets, often use the same seduction techniques and are quite prone to flirting with everyone and everything. Or, at least, that was my impression after several years promoting “cultural Fridays” at the station where I worked.

So that interview was like any interview. But a year later, we bumped into each other at a concert. It was Saturday, I was single, and the guy was wearing red pants that were beautiful on him. The least I could do was tell him, right? "That little pants raises passions," I wrote. "I think you complimented me," he replied.

And well, yeah, what was the problem? Almost no shit does "bright colors" look as pretty as he does, I thought. Of the rest, I did not know anything about that kid, nor was I interested in finding out. We talk about what mortals who want to stay on shore are talking about: work, country. Still, a couple of weeks later, we fell into the waves.

In time, there were not so many red pants. On the contrary, I learned about his rare tendency - conscious or not - to navy blue, brown and white clothes. Some believe that the colors we wear reveal a lot about us. According to that theory, this guy was simple and calm, but also sad and cold. However, the psychology of color was failing him next to me.

When we were together, his calm fell under the fierceness of passion. He gave love and laughed, always laughed, even over the millennial sadness that his eyes seemed to harbor. It was an impromptu love affair, a relationship that tasted like paper, smelled orange, and was as smooth and intense as the ripe avocados he used to gift me.

We saw each other frequently and talked at every turn. It still amazes me how many hours I spend on the phone, despite how much the phone calls bark at me. The themes did not vary so much: we jumped from politics to economics, from psychological to social, from love of family and business, from salsa to trova.

In this way I learned that the "chemistry" whore makes ways of knowing the other arise without the need to fall for questions. He knew almost everything about me and I knew about him, although we did not always expressly tell each other things. We liked each other. We trusted each other. I loved him and I confess that some days, I found myself thinking "this looks like everything I've always wanted but ... he's married, mommy, don't forget it."

I saw her only once. I saw them only once. Beside her, no doubt, he looked more like the guy who wore navy blue and brown. The sadness in his gaze was proportional to hers. Together they looked like a stable married couple of wretches. I definitely didn't want his place, but I didn't feel comfortable with the one he was occupying either. I was her friend but also her lover, even if I didn't feel like one.

A couple of times I managed to ask him if he was happy. He knew what I meant, but he was a star when it came to dodging what he didn't know how to assume: “With you? yes "or" No one is always happy. " In the months that we were together, I remember that I had to travel to Ecuador. In those days, I met the most unusual ways in which a man can say "I miss you."

At some point I wanted to tell him "kid, regardless of me, separate, they look like two living dead when they are together" or "brother, is that not even in the December pictures, they manage to put unemployment well." They were two young men condemning each other to unhappiness. But, I was afraid of sounding like "the other one" waiting for the guy to finally get a divorce.

One night, out of nowhere, he told me - over the phone - that he and his wife were looking to have a baby. I could have insulted him, advised him, summoned him to tell me "to my face," but none of that made sense. Reading and rereading his words, I understood that their relationship was like a company, in which he had invested "many years and resources" and, therefore, he would do anything to avoid closing it, even if all the numbers were negative.

So, keep quiet and I left. If I continued, I ran the risk of ending up buying booties and playing that nothing hurt. I think he knew that his phrase would trigger my imminent departure. For a long time, I questioned their ways. "I would never say goodbye to a love without even looking at it," I thought. But then I understood that that ending, so poorly achieved, was perhaps a kind of "gesture of love" towards me.

"It was time to flee and he left without saying call me one day (...) And life continued as things continue that do not make much sense," I sang with Sabina for 19 days but less than 500 nights. In the absolute distance, and convinced that the children would not solve anything, I always wish him the best. Deep down inside, I knew I would come back when nothing made sense anymore.

Five years after the end, it happened. I knew what he would say before I heard it. Divorce was imminent. And when he was finally doing the right thing, he seemed more lost than ever. In his words, there was a subtle invitation to yesterday, but I am a fervent believer that going backwards, in matters of love, does not make us “gain momentum” but rather “break our necks”. 

I found out that after my lukewarm rejection, he jumped into another old affair. I wanted to tell her she was wrong… one more time, but I was afraid she sounded like the resentful ex-lover. In addition, whoever removes that in the process of being reunited, they must travel old paths that take them to another destination. Good luck and goodbye, love.

Tell me your story, write it as it may, together we shape and share it. Spread the different forms of love, it is always necessary: [email protected]



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