This is the story of When Harry Met Z. A group of aspiring singers's lives changed overnight when chosen to form a band by the biggest producer in the world. The bandmates shared everything for about five years, but things became complicated when t...
I stood up, turned the computer and started playing that song he wrote for me. For me, about me, for us. He had told me so. "This song is for you, babe".
'Cause I'm a fool for you And the things you do I'm a fool for you And the things, the things you do The things you do The things you do'
-Listen to this, just listen to this! You sent me this song, saying what? Do you remember?
I was sobbing. I hated drama so much, but, he brought me to the edge.
'But if you won't believe me Believe me...'
He looked like a bird in a cage, caught in an unwanted situation. It was easier for him. He had everything. He had the lover and the "wife" (or wife to be). I lost him, perhaps forever. All the advice my friends, shrink, mother had given me went to the dumpster. I couldn't help but to demand things, as if he owed me, perhaps he owed me happiness. He was robbing me of something that was mine. What had changed? What happened? Why he would prefer this woman...Questions which might never find an answer. My shrink said I should learn to process grief. She said I was doomed to suffer if I was always going into denial, and then finding something to distract me, and then into obsession. She said I should learn to let go, just let go. He was one of those things I couldn't let go. But, in my mind I had all valid reasons to be obsessed.
Z smiled.
-You are putting background music to our fights now? At least put your own music. Hey Harry. I don't want to hurt you. You seem quite hurt. What is done is done.
He wanted to hug me, to rest his head unto my neck, like he used to do. Only this time, I was filled with rage, thinking of those eyes touching my belly.
I pulled his shirt off. Wanted to take a last look at that tattoo, I wanted to face that bloody tattoo. You won. Now you won. I kneeled down, kissed the black heart Z had tattooed near his pelvis.
-This one is mine, and it will be mine forever. As of the rest of you, everything is gone. Bye Z.
He pulled me from the ground, holding my head, trying to put his lips on top of mine. I fought him, with all my heart, I tried. I had no willpower. My mind wandered, as if I was a pilgrim, wandering ever since our "relationship" broke, trying to put back the pieces together, as if my home had been destroyed, and I and only I held the key to it.
He pushed me against the sofa, putting his torso on top of me.
-No. No. No.
-It's only a tattoo. Harry, please.
'Cause I'm a fool for you And the things you do I'm a fool for you And the things, the things you do The things you do The things you do'
The music continued playing in the background. I had put it on a loop, and now it wouldn't stop. I really, truly was a fool.
He had taught me that love could mean losing dignity; I had none left. None. I wanted to maybe have a last one with him. Dive into him, swam in the passion that was us together. But my mind, whatever was left of it, kept telling me: "NO".
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Don't know how much time we lasted like that. My recollection of that day is vague. A way of protecting myself, I guess. When memories are too painful, we block them. I only know he left, leaving me with a mixture of pain, emotions, gravity; helplessly high, intoxicated. I needed to get out of this state. I was getting addicted to this, like that song I wrote: "Stockholm syndrome" . He had kidnapped me from reason, and I was willingly staying with my kidnapper. For crumbs, for crumbs of love.
Enough of the self pity. You might be wondering why I could fall so low. But, what you don't know is how high it was, what a paradise it was, what joy it was when we were together. The discovery of another person, in all levels, all aspects, how we bonded, how we became accomplices, true partners, inseparable, he was present in everything I did. Being together beat all the highs, all the parties, anything, there wasn't anything superior to being with him. Therefore, you see, anything, doing anything is worth it. I might be kneeling down now. But, it's for a good cause, you get me? Haha. I know what you guys are thinking. No. I am not a masochist, nor am infatuated by him to the point of no return. Here I am writing this, telling the world about a love that existed, will exist, might return, or might not. I don't know this now.
I know you might be wanting some "juicy" details of us. There are lots of that. In my mind, my memories. Read those in my music. Alright? I will be putting everything in my music. I am not a writer, you have witnessed an attempt at saving an impossible love. I had to put this into words, to maybe remember this part of my life. My mother says some love stories are like landslides, they bury everything that comes before and after. My story with Z is one of them.
As of Barbara. I will meet her. It is rare to find ethical journalists, I will let her write a piece on me. On this, on everything I told you guys. She will decide if she wants to protect our identity or not. After all, she is a true professional, a war reporter. She will know what to do. And then let life decide.
(To be continued...let me know your thoughts...xoxo)
