Dear Robert,

Losing the never extisting state of grace

Dear Robert,

Have you ever noticed how life is always defined by colours? Or love is defined by different shades? I'm not talking about that trash alike shades of books like: Fifty Shades of Grey or stuff like that. No, I mean real colours, like when you are on a downhill rollercoaster: everything around you becomes faded and you only see rush of colours because what you have around just spins becoming blurry and mixed up. Love is like that sometimes, like a mixture of colours and rollercoaster and screaming from the top of your lungs cause you are scared but also excited.

But.

When the rollercoaster run ends you notice that maybe it lasted just a moment. You can feel the dizziness and adrenaline going away and if you are lucky enough you look up while your head it's still spinning from the ride and while looking at the blue sky end up thinking about your blue eyes.

Loving you wasn't blue, not red, neither golden.
Loving you was a mixture of all the colours together, it was touch and go and being on the top of the hill one day and ending at the bottom the second after. It was all together, it was white and it was black and since I'm trying to stop to be an all or nothing person the best I can give you after our love story is grey, the one in between even though is not the togetherness of all the colours.

Guess what? Today in New York is raining and the sky is grey, I guess in Dublin is raining too and I'm wondering if your heart still hurts or bleeds or if our love for you already faded. I see all this people running around with their coffees and phones and little children and dogs and lovers or smiling or crying or just being lost around the city.

My favourite kind of lost ones are the tourists or 'the new to town' people. They come to New York hoping it might change their lives for ever, maybe they will change their minds about how they were living in their hometown and all alone move here to New York just to fall in love with a stranger, who maybe or maybe not will bring them back to Dublin on a little coast side to meet their lover's family and feel lost all over again with or without New York. Maybe she will leave Dublin around Christmas and decide to come back home (the New York home) half broken hearted and after a fight, our blue eyes burning of rage and passion, she will get abandoned at the station, not seeing her important someone coming back and take her mosaic coloured pieces of broken heart and try to put it back together, like a little Olaf snowman only sadder.

Sometimes I just hope to see you around and I hope love wasn't such a ruthless grim game in which in order to reach a state of grace you have to fight with all you have and with all the things you got left to restart from the start point of the game table and hopefully play good and right this time. I hope you are fine where you are and I hope the sky is grey and something reminds you, you wished you had stayed, but maybe it's better being alone somewhere else than being back together in pain while fate plays with us like tyrants on his hands.