This Story Will Never End (2) Into our desire So late, for us this rain Quenches us in vain Everywhere you may be Desire lives in me My love for you will stay Even when I’m away. I’ll be here, waiting And even when it’s raining And clouds, the sky between Will make you unseen I will still wait for you Because you love me too. These words convinced me that, yes, there is love for me in his heart. So I sent him the message “I am a big fan and I will die holding your albums in my arms!” His answer was quick and sweet: “I also love you, but there are many who want us apart”. That was exactly what I had suspected, but I had refused to see it. I was sad to hear it from him, because maybe there would have been a chance for us to be happy, had it not been for so many people who hate us. Who decides who is allowed to be happy, and who has to suffer until death? But so it goes: ups and downs. No matter how hard I try to either forget him, or draw him closer. I don’t know which way to go now, and all that is left is waiting. I need to be patient. Christmas is near, but I don’t feel any joy. Yes, I am waiting for my children to join me for the holidays, but all of the celebration will not numb this pain inside. I have a cross to bear, and nobody can know it. They would not even believe that at my age I can still give my heart to a love like this. Going back in time can mean rebirth, but this rebirth is illusory because our youth never really returns, so any such happiness is ephemeral. Even though I know all this, and I don’t believe in anything anymore, I still know my feelings are real, and this love story is not an illusion. I’m not afraid to die with his albums on my chest and his name on my lips. I want to erupt in an explosion of fire, and all the splendor of our love would drown the world in color. Nature itself would change to a fantastic landscape of painful wonder. Sometimes I’m ready to fight for this, and sometimes I tire. But I would be a coward if I gave it all up. To give up would mean suicide. Both of us would lose something, because he has given me proof that he does love me, with all his messages and the song he wrote for us. If I dared give him my address and phone number in one of my messages, I’m sure they would not air it. They did that before, and I know they mean us harm. Last night he sang our song on live TV. We didn’t even have a second to look at each other, because they cut him off after the song. But it was enough for me, because his angelic face lights my darkness like a precious stone. Another anonymous message today said “I want to close my eyes and reach beyond the stars, so that a part of me could fly to you and love you. I live on this earth for a hidden love. I am yours”. I read the message with tears in my eyes. It has to be from him. When I see his videos, because they are not live, I know he can’t see me, but he knows I’m watching him. That is why even then I feel a jolt every time I see him. Last time I saw him something strange happened: I felt this swirling current take me over, and then I saw his face right next to me! I felt I would die right there and then, because I also felt that he touched my hand! Inside of me, everything stirred with crazy desire, but my immense happiness ended in fear. What did that mean? Oh, Cristian, please have mercy on me, what are you trying to do to me? I rushed out of my apartment to breathe fresh air, and hoped I would come to my senses. Was it only my imagination, my untold desire that made me think I saw him, or was it something else? What if I am indeed going crazy? I had to find out, so I sent another message: “my angel, my idol, was it you who came over me with your thoughts?” And then, the miracle happened: our song was played right after that message. I cannot explain how I felt at that moment. It was as if he had entered my room. I shouted with joy, and wished that the magic feeling would never go away. But they always end. What is more, I always see him sad afterwards, as if he can’t give me all that he would like to. He even said “I love you, always, but we can never be together”. How many times can I keep losing him without losing my mind? “From a little mouse to Thumbelina”. I know that was for me, because he knows I am tiny. I used to be taller in my youth, but not much taller. If only he could see what I used to look like, when I was his age! Fifty years between us... No wonder the world is against us. But he does not care. He is the beginning, and I am the end. He can feel it too. God must have wanted our destinies to unite in this boat of life, on this unyielding ocean, caught in the web of time in which the beginning is always the end and the end is the beginning. Many people would not even conceive of such a meeting of two hearts, but for me it is the only reason I have left to live. A love so strong, so innocent and full, that neither I, nor him, can fight. And I should not tell anyone, especially my two daughters, because they would become worried and foolish, as if there was something wrong with me. What do they know, going on with their lives, their families, while my heart burns with such secret desire. The winter holidays are near. Little crystals hurry to cover everything in white, and I have already put up the tree shining secretive lights. Tomorrow is Christmas. A car with a French license plate has parked in front of the gate and I rush to open it and to greet my children. After tears of joy and many hugs, I let my grandkids play around the Christmas tree. Then, we all gathered in the living room to tell stories. In my heart, I was carrying a secret that I could not speak about. They would not have liked to hear it. I tried to be merry so that nobody would feel tense or unhappy, but my soul was in pain. I could not see the one I loved. The kids took the TV remote to watch cartoons, while I cried inside. I had to wait until they visited some friends, and I could only be alone by declining the invitation. God helped me: I did see him on TV. I even read his message, but that made me even sadder: “Some people fight for their love; you are doing nothing”. I answered: “I have no weapons left, what chance do I have? Now all I can do is fight this feeling that is driving me crazy”. We spent New Year’s Eve at home. We ate oysters brought from France, but I only ate two because the taste was so foreign to me. At night I tried to find my idol on all the channels but he was not there. I thought he would sing live, but maybe he was celebrating with his family as well. To me, he is part of my family. I tried not to talk about him in front of the others, but finally my daughter said she wanted to listen to him. When she started playing the tape, she saw on my face how emotional I had become, so she asked me what was wrong. I had to tell her I was in love with him. We had a fight. I ended it saying I did not want to discuss this issue anymore. She could not have stopped me anyway. My children didn’t stay long – three weeks only. Now I’m alone again, with my love and the TV remote. But now, he disappeared again for days and days, although he did send me a few messages now and then. I feel him next to me sometimes. Then, I can allow myself to be happy. I know it’s not something that other people do, but for me, this is the only way I can feel him close to me. One message from him said “you still love me in this new year?” and I felt a bit hurt. How could he doubt it? I answered, “my angel, true love cannot be stopped even by God”. My message did not appear on the screen, and then my patience ran out. I yelled at them, knowing that they could hear me: “Why won’t you give him my message? If you don’t show it, I’ll send a complaint tomorrow!” Then, holding his picture in my hand, I told him: “Watch what I do with your picture now!” And I tore it to pieces. “I will never shed another tear for you”. And then, almost immediately, I saw my message on the screen. I was still angry, although I knew it was not his fault. How could it be his fault that I loved him so? I turned the TV off and I continued talking to myself. I finally went to sleep, my fight with him still going on in my head. In the morning, I asked for forgiveness through my bitter tears. I knew it, and I told him, that my love for him would never end. And that morning, he sent me the message “When I first saw you, I was afraid to love you. Now I’m afraid to lose you”. Another said “I love you, please forgive me”. But messages don’t make me happy anymore. Only his face brings light to my heart. My life is a waiting game, and I feel as if this waiting is a sweet demonic spell that somebody put on me. I know this is destined to be my last love, my true love, my doomed love. I see myself, at one of his shows, giving him a yellow rose and whispering: “for you, my love, my never-ending story”. Why can’t tears of longing become tears of joy one day? I know he can’t love me as I do, because of my age. Age is a barrier that nobody can defeat. Nobody can give me back my youth. What abyss has taken me in these autumn years? What do I long for? Despair is the only certainty, and yet every time I hear the phone ring, or the sound of the doorbell, my heart jumps in the hope that it might be him. It will only end in my death: that’s another certainty. Soon, I will reach the end of despair. Soon, I will scream toward the skies: why do you allow this ghost to haunt me, why do I have to shed so many tears on this cold plastic that holds his songs inside? I wonder if I have managed not to look crazy. Nobody would think that at my age I can have such feelings. I think I did ask God for too much, at the end of my days. All that I thought was happiness began with an error that my imagination has turned into desire, and now it’s too late. I can never rid my heart of him. I want to fall asleep and never wake up again. There is no consolation in the outside world. Old people are forbidden from love. Why has my heart remained young? I did not ask for it. He crossed my path and gave me no chance but to love him at first sight. Now I have to accept the consequences. I soothe my soul by singing and dancing, as I always have. I don’t believe I’ve seen such energy in people of my age. I prayed yesterday, asking for forgiveness for daring to love this handsome young man. My heart refuses to accept the prejudices that plague the world. I think he can’t escape them either. I saw him on TV today, and when he finally looked at me, his eyes were cold. I didn’t feel the warmth I had felt in the past. Among other things, he claimed, on national television, that he was in love! He didn’t say who the happy girl was, but it was clear to me that he was not mine anymore. After all, even when he said he loved me and respected me in his messages, he never promised that he would come to me. This romance is no different from thousands of others. I feel I don’t belong to life anymore, and if the end of seventy-four years is as sad as the rest, then my life has all been spent waiting pointlessly for something to sweep me off my feet. And then he disappeared again. I thought that maybe he was out of the country, but the truth was much more painful than that. What I feared came sooner than I had expected. I ran into a channel where the anchor said with a smile that Cristian had married a dancer. I had known that they were engaged, but they had been separated from time to time as well. Then he came on, with his new wife, holding hands. He avoided my eyes but finally looked at me with a timid smile. I tried to smile back but I was in too much shock. I tried to be casual. I had to look composed. After all, my story was known at the studio, because somebody, with some kind of machine, had copied all of my letters to him, which I never meant for him to see. But I don’t care anymore. They can all know, as far as I’m concerned. I lost him anyway. His wife also knows our story, and for her sake I stayed calm. She watched me, though, with these jealous mean eyes that said “he is mine now!” I knew, then, that she hated me. I didn’t want to give her any satisfaction, so all the hate in her eyes did not move me. I did not cry, I did not plead. My heart, of course, was a tempest of desire, of the burning need to hold him. He is still the same to me, the one who brought me back in time and gave me back my life. I cannot say good-bye, my love, my precious diamond. I will always regret never seeing you in person and never talking to you, which would have made it easier to part with you. Just know that you will live forever in my heart. When I die and all that is left of me is my spirit, I will join you and protect you from the evil in the world. When you suffer, when you can’t find your peace, then go to a church, light a candle, and tell me what you’re going through. I will help. I will leave this world with you in my mind and heart, and I won’t be alone on the other side. You’ve been my water, my air, my sun and my angel, the most beautiful love of my life. I feel the end drawing near. It’s not as if I didn’t know the reality of it. I would never have him. I was stricken by love at an age when no story can have a happy ending. Bodies grow old, but souls don’t. And if you don’t have that grain of reason and that strong heart, you may even lose yourself in total insanity. True love means to be able to give without receiving, to be able to burn without asking for anything in return. That is why I will never try to put out this fire. With all the strength that I have left in me, I try to hold on to that precarious balance that keeps me alive. The chaos inside will remain inside, although nobody knows how alone I am in the midst of infinity. The tears within me reflect heaven and hell together. What sublime death awaits me, with such a flame that nobody can extinguish? This story is a mystery. These questions will never have an answer. Even I wonder why my old body can still feel. Does anyone know? Epilogue All my life I’ve been looking for the sun. When storms clouded it, I fought on, and I came through. Light always pulled me forward, and my best friend was loneliness. Bits of happiness perished as fast as they appeared. Many rains made my soul cold, but the hope for warmth was so much the bigger. I lived to suffer, as if even my birth had been a mistake. I was fooled by the light because I wanted it too much. But is it better not to hope at all? When my angel came in my old age, would I have been happier not knowing how it felt to want him? What can be more beautiful than the illusion called love? That warmth is not equaled by anything else that we live through, even if other things may be more real and you can reach them, touch them, taste them. Close to sunset, my light is still alive. That is the light that will guide me to the other world, and so I say to you: love is what makes of us all stories that never end.
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