E.,
We met on a March day, in that usual way that fate has to enter our lives: as a small, invisible accident, which we will later call a curse.
I came to that Facebook fan club meeting , like a girl who wasn't looking for anything: neither love, nor tragedy, nor a name that would follow me for so many years. At first, I didn't even like you. I even liked your friend, more beautiful, easier to choose. You were just a figure in the background, until the universe decided to play a joke on me. A letter fell to the ground and I wanted your help, but I couldn't remember your name. Even that seems symbolic to me now, like a warning: don't learn this name, because you won't forget it! Funny, isn't it?
Then came the shared chat , a kiss emoji, a harmless tease. And that's how it started. You see, being the first is often the beginning of addiction. And I, 16 years old, who hadn't even had my first kiss yet, started fantasizing.
But one day, suddenly, reality hit me. You disappeared and blocked me everywhere, without explanation. I remember that feeling when I was out of breath and the world was spinning around me. That same evening, late, you told me: “I’m sorry… I’m tied up. I was afraid to say it because you liked me a lot.” As if it were a small detail! How ironic: I liked you a lot, but not enough to not destroy me.
I pretended to be proud because this is my way of not getting completely naked and I told you: relax, we're just having fun. How well I know how to lie to myself. In truth, the days we spent without talking to me were like being locked in a room without windows. Before I went crazy, I chose to come back. And so our rhythm began: approaching, leaving, words, emptiness. A story that was only fueled by absence. Random encounters on the street, cars stopping, your voice calling me as if I were almost part of your life. Everything half. Everything insufficient. A whole life in fragments, and me always hungry.
Then Durrës. The sea. We entered the water as if it would cleanse us of everything we dared not say. We kissed. That kiss that seemed to me like the light of the whole world focused only on me. It was the most magical kiss of my life. But even that wasn't enough to make us real. The years passed, and I grew older, but not in this story, because some loves seem to hold you hostage in the most vulnerable version of yourself.
And finally Italy, like a delayed dream. When I got there, I thought: ok, this is closure. Evening, midnight, morning… our bodies finally on the same page. I thought that now I would be free from these clutches. But still… you spoke to me about someone else. And I immediately turned back into the 16-year-old girl who couldn't breathe. There I realized something simple: I didn't want your body. I wanted something you never gave me. I wanted you to solve me. I wanted you to love me out loud.
Sometimes I think: what would I be today if I hadn't known you? But then I remember some moments that were real. After all, even hell is real when it burns you. I don't want to hate you. Hate is still a form of connection. I just want to bring you back to your real size.
And this, perhaps, is my only revenge: that you, finally, will be just a human being...
-A.
- Written for Anabel by an anonymous woman, for the “Untold Stories” column – the haven where we recount those moments when the heart wants to speak, whether about the good or the difficult, about the deepest feelings that we don't want to keep inside. If you too would like to share your story, write to us at [email protected] .
