— Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Ada, I’ve been through a lot. I’ve wasted a lot of things. Myself, life, everything. I won’t get improved. I’m living with a virus in my veins. I don’t want to be a part of anybody’s life. And i don’t want anybody to be a part of my life. This is me. This is who i was, this is who i’m going to be. There is no reason for this, so don’t look for any. I wish there was, I wish I knew that reason and could change it. But I want you to know this: You were the most beautiful thing in my life. Do not forget that.
Today I saw you by a wall fucking a redhead who was wearing tight blue jeans. First you grabbed her ass then you unzipped her pants and started to finger her. I was waiting for the lights to cross the street and disappear from you. You weren’t seeing me though, I was a ghost. Of course I was a ghost. You filled her emptiness by the wall. Then it was time for me to go. So I walked away.
I saw you on the street today and asked you the directions. I was friendly and you noticed that. Perhaps thats why you decided to keep on talking. We went to a bar together, and you told me about your never-ending travels. I laughed with you a lot, but you didn’t. Its okay - there was not much connection. At least you weren’t faking it or acting like a prince charming to then fool me. Your intentions were clear. Regardless I wanted to get your number and leave shortly after because the night was young. When I told you I had to go, you took a step back, then another, then… You said “Okay. Nice to meet you.” and turned away. I watched you walk away.
I saw you talking to a girl with red lips right outside a bar. You were asking her questions. She seemed to be happy to talk about herself. You were curious about the color of her panties. I walked past you, and you disappeared.
You walked past me today with a few friends. All of you were loud, screaming, declining the silence of the night and the purple sky. Rebellion against things you don’t understand.
I felt a drop. Then it drizzled. The best part of fall is rain. I wear my plain white shirt and skinny pants, let the wild rain smoothen my heart, fill me with nostalgia and poetry. I walked by the train station, sat down, took a sip from my cheap coffee warming my palms, closed my eyes, listened to the train pass bringing the silence back again… I thought of Berlin, Paris, Florence. I felt the air. I felt the presence of strangers I walked past that left me remembering the cities.
I was hiding somewhere near the station by the trees. Sitting on top of a rock.
You weren’t seeing it. None of it. None of this thing… This. Whatever this is, was, will be. Me and this weather, this sky… I felt alone. Sad. My tears joined the rain. But that doesn’t mean much, does it?
Then I came home to you, to my dearest friend. My partner in ridicule beauty. I wanted to go to a forest with you where we both become infinite contemplating. When I walked in I looked at you. I froze. But you weren’t there, were you?
— W.B. Yeats