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Slow motion

"Wha...?" Jumping awake, morning sunlight streaming through the densely covered window. My mind is alert, but I had been dreaming. I heard the music again and I can almost grasp the lyrics, more than I did yesterday. Symphonic streaming with a haunting melody but the lyrics escape me, even though I feel their importance. I try to lay very still, breath shallowly to feel the melody, consciously recreating it in hopes to understand the message but like a mist it evaporates and I can't catch it. I yearn to catch it.

The phone reads 8:39! I've overslept and I'm still exhausted! Running my fingers through my hair I realize I've slept through my workout training! Was there something else I had to do? A meeting? Maybe a brunch appointment? I don't even know what day it is! Oh yes......Tuesday. Where to next? What's my schedule? I will have to ask or maybe start writing it down in my calendar. Just breath, it's all planned and my only responsibility is to show up and smile.

Shifting to the edge of the bed, stretching, I place my feet on the floor. The solid, strength of the floor reassures me that I'm awake and I will start my day and move forward. I am courageous, strong, fully aware of my presence........then I remember that it's been two months and I just want to crawl back under the blankets and hide.

Reality is I'm pushing myself to move on. If I stay in one place too long, my carefully created universe will spiral. Don't think. Don't feel. Move forward. Just keep moving. My feet carry me into the bathroom. I'm daydreaming again as I cup my hands under the running water, watching it pool into my hands, seeping between my fingers and then down the drain. All of this in slow motion......... Wake up! The drops splashing off my face and the mirror force me to look at myself. Smile, don't let the fans see my pain. They view me as beautiful, strong and capable. They only see the character I play. Today I don't want to pretend to the world, I fight going back to bed.

The closet door glides to the right and I subconsciously reach for the t-shirt, The memories sear my hand like reaching for a hot coal. I move past it and grab something else to slip over my head. I don't think about the color or the fit. I just need to make the appearance of my morning routine. I open the dresser drawer to an emptiness. Startled like the first time I opened it. Again, a mental note to open the one on the left to retrieve a pair of shorts. I straighten and one more time catch my reflection but this time in the dresser mirror. I can't deny that I'm too thin, my eyes are empty and my clothes just hang on me.

They say self observation is the first step in recovery. Do I need to recover from the very best year of my life? Do I even want to? Somehow recovery sounds a lot like forgetting and how do you go about forgetting your soul, removing the most precious parts and replacing it with inanimate pieces to fill the gaps and crevices? How do you see the world again after experiencing heaven?

I hear her speaking quietly on the phone as I enter the living room. "The thing is Faruk....,,I'm afraid...". Moving further into the room, her back stiffens as she hears me and turning with a smile she says her farewell and hangs up the phone. I see her concern for me, it's evident in her expression yet my concern is more urgent. "What is it? What are you afraid of? Of me?" I ask.

"Never!" She prolongs the word with intensity, reassuring me with her kind eyes, gentle smile and her softest look. "I suppose worried would have been a better word. I'm only afraid FOR you, my sweet son." Anne pauses but cautiously proceeds. "Can, maybe we need to make an appointment with a doctor?" I drop my body onto the sofa, every cell defeated. "No no no no no no, I will be okay Anne. My heart hurts but I will make it through this. After all, I am your son." I reply with a watery smile. Then she places her nurturing hand to my head in comfort and I felt the tremble to my core. And just as the tiniest breeze can shake the tallest tree, my memories scatter into a million little pieces and I can't grab them fast enough to stuff them back into the recess of my mind. They are all around me and I'm forced to deal with them for a moment.

It's really over. She has signed another show. I'm traveling a world tour. I start to feel hot. I can't stand to open instagram knowing I will see her beautiful face or the horrible things the media reports as facts or all the wonderful tweets of the memories of our love. My heart rate increases. The worst is her lack of response, no social media likes or comments and certainly no calls. As if there were never an Us. I feel sick to my stomach. Our fans remember us but i don't recognize myself let alone her and the past year seems like a fantasy at times, a dream. I can't breath. She is moving on and I'm living a nightmare painted with a smile. My heart breaks all over again.

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Thanks for reading Can's fictional POV. This has been a very difficult process because my heart wants our children to be together but in real life there is actually no proof and I want to be respectful to them both. So pray for me as I venture into Demet's POV in part 2.