Dear Helsinki, it is 4.35am and here I am writing you a letter just because I need to. In my life I tend to miss so many things that happened in the past, that I forget to notice events that take place at this very moment. You know I have the miserable tendency to look back with nostalgia; I am so talented to live in the past or future that I am never able to take the full advantage of what happens around me in the present.
This night will not be any different, I think. I will look forward to experience the same rush I had tonight through songs we listened to and discussions we had. It is funny, though, the way we meet people who have such an enormous impact on our lives. And the absurdest thing is that there is no reason to have much time to create the change. It happens, unexpectedly. Continue reading
Unlike with the others I visited this year, I did not fall in love with you.
But I was not expecting that. We have had a long history, a complicated one. Our relationship has been uneasy since the moment we laid eyes on each other. Or perhaps even before. And nevertheless I have seen you the most frequently out of all, for various practical reasons beyond my control. I never cared for you.
I saw you in April before last week. This was my fourth or fifth visit after the moment of feeling the tender touch of his fingers sliding down the stubble on my chin for one more time; hearing profoundly melancholic words of departure with the voice that soothed me during the nights; seeing a grippingly bittersweet smile of encouragement and helplessness directed at me. Then he turned his back to me and walked away, disappearing to home, comfort and love you were able to offer him. Continue reading