Blondes to My Doom

I saw every feature of her face clearly and vividly — her beautiful smile, the taste of her kiss, the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin. Every gesture, every movement resurfaced. That moment when she said with doubt in her voice: "You're just playing with me." It was impossible to convince her otherwise — that she might be the one I could love for the rest of my life… because even now, just thinking of her, I still love her.

Of course, there were others — kind, loving women whom I loved in return — but none quite like her. I didn't understand her, couldn't read her true self. I had no idea what inner battles she fought, what had happened to her, or who had done it, to leave her in that state of depression. I didn't understand, because I hadn't experienced anything like it myself. I could say now that I know what she might have gone through—but really, I only have a sense of it. Because this state, though easy to define in general terms, is different for everyone. People enter it in different ways, and they find their way out differently, too.

Yes, I was immature and inexperienced — too much so to understand her then. Life has since taught me all the things I should have known back then. If I could stand face to face with her once more, I'd simply say, from the heart: I understand everything. I love you. Whether or not that love is returned doesn't matter. It's just my hopeful feeling that she's happy now, however things are — and if she ever needs me, even from afar, I'm here. Always.

That's how I woke up. I had dreamed of her — in some parallel world, still trying to persuade her, to soothe her, to save her, to love her right. 

***

"Rainbows," she said. She squinted into the light and didn't say anything more, but the air around her words carried a silent fuck you. She was jealous. Of anyone. She knew exactly which women I found attractive. If a woman passed by on the street — even if I was looking the other way — she already knew: That one, you like that one. We named these women rainbows. She used the word mockingly, again and again. I can still hear her voice: "Your rainbows…" (f...you!)

One summer day, we walked through barley just starting to turn golden. She wore a black dress with a red belt, and I took a few pictures of her. She was so alive in that moment — charming and radiant. It was her intellect that first captivated me. After that, it didn't matter — I fell for her. How we fell out of love, I don't even remember. But she seems happy now, and I'm truly glad. She genuinely deserves it.

***

Maybe I should tell you about every love I've ever had. Maybe I should start searching again — or maybe just wait, and let it find me. To bring that spark back into my days, that vibrant feeling you get when you love someone sincerely — and they love you back, just the same. 

Steve