Painted that smile to my chemo-destroyed and pale face because you loved it. My thinning hair was cut long ago, you loved the long, maybe this way too… Covered my shattered body into black, getting into your fav perfume, it was needed, you loved that. We’re going to a concert. The Concert. After all those months there was no escape, we had to meet. Fear and longing fought fiercely under my pale skin, but I couldn’t let it be seen by anyone, because Mr. Hodgkin himself was waiting for me. Only two hours of travelling by train separated me from looking into his eyes again. I was afraid that everything I had been denying for eighteen painful, chemical-soaked, smoky and lost months would be true.
And then he stood in front of me and it was as if he wasn’t there, as if I wasn’t there. He didn’t refuse me by love, not by hatred, by fear or jealousy. And I just had to keep playing, I couldn’t die at the very first moment that I meant nothing to him. Because I didn’t go there for it, because I wanted to feel so good. I had to drink a lot, a great deal, to cover my frustration. We talked superficially, about superficial topics, as I slowly thawed in the connected sea of man and became redundant. He didn’t touch me; he didn’t even look at me. That is how we started it, and it was the start of a much-desired summer night, and we listened to the most defining tunes of our superfluous relationship without even meeting our gaze for a moment. I could not have felt more lost while the euphoria of the frantic crowd ripped through the darkest canvas of denial in me and pushed me into the incomprehensible depths of rejected loneliness. And then the redemptive rain came, and by then I could cry and roar with all my pain into the noise. I screamed, sobbed, and he stood there, back to me. Then I felt that I might never had seen him from the front.
We were completely immersed in the soul-torn, agonizingly beautiful thunder of rebirth, when he finally grabbed and squeezed my hand for so long, he pulled me along the crowd without saying anything. I just went after him, and he didn’t look at me. Everything that followed was already over the signs of the path of destruction. The night brought him back to me again and he kissed me, hugged me, and we made love again and he despairingly called me back into our never ending game. I saw his fear, his pain, how much alone he was still in his own prison, and how unimaginably far apart we were. He didn’t want to let me go, but I had to go, run, tear, run away from him, far from myself, so far away where we could no longer exist.
The light of dawn found me in a non-stop. I was sitting there, just watching the peaceful silence of Budapest awakening through the window. I didn’t feel anything, I had no questions, I wasn’t looking for answers anymore. My skin was no longer burning, my lips were not trembling in the abandoned love. There was no truth, nothing left. I wasn’t angry with him anymore, and I forgave myself. I didn’t hold my phone longing for a message, I didn’t want to hear his voice anymore. The emptiness, the purity broke apart my soul, so that without any doubt, I felt it in my bones, in my cells, I knew that I could finally let him go, that I had not just decided that I would not go back there, in those minutes of destruction and liberation while I was letting it happen something superhuman, some inexplicable peace arrived. That door was closed and now finally I was the one who closed it, and was no longer clinging to the door handle to open it again.
Of course he called me that day, he wanted to hear my voice, he wanted to tell me that he missed me so much, and he regretted that he acted like that and put away my bracelet and wanted to see me and ask me when I would be his again. As always. I just smiled. I had never seen him so clearly, who was the one I loved so much. He called many times, years later, but we never met, not even by chance, because I didn’t want to. I understood that this game would have lasted forever if I hadn’t kicked up the puppets and stepped off the field that morning. Because this game wasn’t about me, he didn’t love me, but it just took me so damn long to accept it.
In this soulless maze, I became just an object, but I could have been anyone. He needed my freedom, my youth, my passion, anything except me. He didn’t want me, just fled to me, but I couldn’t help him. He grabbed me with his giant hands to go so deep that I couldn’t escape alone. I let the darkness turn into light, so that betrayal would become love. I believed that the self-destructive curse what he embraced me with in that fall was a blessing. All his suffering, his loss became mine.
I let him go, a piece of us broke out, and never reached me again. I understood the teaching, and I am grateful to have been given a new life. I understood why I chose this path, worked hard to accept that all the suffering I had to endure in the healing process was for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. But I had to wait another ten years to understand him and sincerely forgive him for what he did to me.