Recently I had a phone call with my friend. I kept asking all these things I usually ask - when you hold me in your arms, I should be here - you want me to feel I love you in that moment - you want me to be here, not gone - it´s not just my body you want - you know the difference between me really being present, body and soul, or just my empty body and crying child behind closed eyelids?
He said he wasn´t always sure what I felt, (I haven´t learned to express my emotions yet), but he certainly always wanted me to be here, with him, during the few times he held me in his arms, he wanted me to actually feel his love for me, not being a mirror of desire, a lost puppet. Then he asked me:
"Who are you talking to? Me, or just my voice?"
"Of course I´m talking to you..."
"And yet, you don´t see me. But you know it´s me. Actually, it works in the same way - when I see you, when I touch you -" his voice is filled with tenderness - "it´s your body I feel, but I know it is you, the whole person. It´s not divided for me. It can´t be."
Something warm is spreading through my veins, for a brief moment I can feel it. His compassion, deep sadness, all the weight of our friendship, my love for him, which I always doubt as I don´t find myself being able to truly love someone.
And suddenly, the horror of childhood memories comes back like a flesh of darkness, the twisted way in which my granduncle was stealing my body, while the rest of me was left unnoticed. I start to shiver, then I cry, loudly, desperately.
"Why are you crying now?"
"...for the little girl... because she didn´t matter."
"... I am sorry for her too. But now - you do matter. A lot." :- )
He said he wasn´t always sure what I felt, (I haven´t learned to express my emotions yet), but he certainly always wanted me to be here, with him, during the few times he held me in his arms, he wanted me to actually feel his love for me, not being a mirror of desire, a lost puppet. Then he asked me:
"Who are you talking to? Me, or just my voice?"
"Of course I´m talking to you..."
"And yet, you don´t see me. But you know it´s me. Actually, it works in the same way - when I see you, when I touch you -" his voice is filled with tenderness - "it´s your body I feel, but I know it is you, the whole person. It´s not divided for me. It can´t be."
Something warm is spreading through my veins, for a brief moment I can feel it. His compassion, deep sadness, all the weight of our friendship, my love for him, which I always doubt as I don´t find myself being able to truly love someone.
And suddenly, the horror of childhood memories comes back like a flesh of darkness, the twisted way in which my granduncle was stealing my body, while the rest of me was left unnoticed. I start to shiver, then I cry, loudly, desperately.
"Why are you crying now?"
"...for the little girl... because she didn´t matter."
"... I am sorry for her too. But now - you do matter. A lot." :- )
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