It tingled my nerves and it burned my flesh out. It made my heart pound as if my body had no end and it made me feel as miserable as no one could ever feel. Why, for crying out loud, did I ever have the unfortune to experience a feeling that was not even accepted by my own health? Well, you heard right, for it did. It did in such an awful way that it was impossible not to feel the pain. Wise men say that emotional losses or personal problems are healed as time passes by. But to me, the fact of having lost this relationship would not heal over time. In fact, it would get worse, because you figure out that every second, every minute gone is a period of time which you will not be able to experience again for it is a minute gone. The massive amount of those minutes makes you realise, sooner or later, that the thing you have lost is vital, essential, and that without it, you will not only feel miserable, but you will die miserable for you will carry to your grave the weight of your conscience and the everlasting pain for having lost a crucial gap in your life.
All these thoughts were threatening me day by day. But only the power of my greatness gave me the strength to decide that I would not let myself be drowned by them. I tried to convince myself that I was stronger than that. I kept repeating over and over again that I did not need someone else to be happy, that I had to be satisfied with what was left of me. After all, who needed that undescribable feeling that made my stomach hurt and my life nothing but unhappy? … Well… I did. Who was I kidding? I needed to feel miserable. I HAD to feel miserable, at least one more time. The time I had longed in that relationship was not enough. Actually, I would never get enough of it for it was the most marvellous feeling I have ever had the privilege to experience. And now here I was, lying in my bed, staring at a horizon that never grew closer and panicking over some guy who I was crying over for. Tears streamed down for him as I gripped my guitar and crashed it against the wall. For a moment I thought he did not deserve me and no guy had the right to mistreat me this way. But minutes later I thought my bass would look good when suffering the same fate my guitar had suffered and that was when I considered paying for psycho therapy, though I did not.
Every damn night I kept thinking to myself these kind of things, trying to understand why it was so not possible to have a perfect life, at least as far as love is concerned. It was one of those nights when I heard some strange noises downstairs, which by common sense, I guessed were product of my insanity. But they were not. Those noises were as real as my own pain. Someone was knocking at my door and the moment I opened it I had a short meeting with fate, or maybe luck. There he was, standing firm, arms opened and he gave me the sort of look you get from a baby willing for a candy. My mind was blank but somehow I was filled with forgiveness and I asked him over for a cup of tea.