This is one I will be writing in English. Not an extraordinary English. Just the words that pop up in my head. And you should know I’m writing this for you. It has been a long time since I have felt the urge to write because of a girl. The friend in who’s house you spent the night is one of them. And now it’s you.
I remember the night we met. We were walking the streets of Sofia and suddenly you were talking about your dreams. About the plans you have and about how one big city can be too small for all the ideas in one tiny head. I was not hungry and frightened and yet we had a great dinner. It was back there at that wooden table I catched your truly remarcable eyes for the first time.
Two tough Bulgarians went for a wodka so we were left by ourselves in your small appartment. The cat had remarcable eyes too. I remember following you to the kitchen. I remember telling you my story. I remember you listening and slightly nodding your head. I remember you saving me that night.
The kitchen was so small it provided a strangely familiar atmosphere. The good part was when you were telling stories. You would walk around, sit down and vise your mug with both hands. I would listen and wonder why we were sitting there, facing each other, two complete strangers. I left you Belgian chocolate the next morning.
You know, you look like a real artist when you smoke one of those elegant cigarettes. You look even more like an artistic vagabond when you watch the world through that huge lens of yours. When you walk around in Gent and your eyes register scenes I would never even notice. You try to teach me how to focus but I manage to get your faces blurry and the beautiful Gent buildings on the back very sharp. We drink small bottles of jenever and laugh about nothing. We drink winter macchiatos with little milk foam hearts in it and you try the best chocolate cake ever. We sit at a big table and talk about life. About how Bulgaria and Belgium, how the two of you and me, how we all have particular dreams, objectives, struggles. The boy sitting next to us is overhearing our conversation. You say it feels good to know that our lives are interesting for other people.
You bought David Bowie and Radiohead. We walked home beside the river. Twilight. It was a detour but I knew you would love the light. You took pictures of reflections in the water. You said we are as powerful as the water because we are all water. I believed every word you said.
I was not sad. It was an unknown mixture of happiness and melancholy. You smoked a cigarette on the balcony. It was dark and Gent unfolded itself in front of you. The moon was big and orange. You said something about the future and a miracle. And about how things will explain themselves when the right time comes.
I wish I would be there when you have your exhibition. I wish I owned the privilege to live close to you, to be able to run in to you coincidentally. Maybe one day, in a city that is big enough for all our projects, dreams and visions.
I’m going to bed now. Say hi to Y. and the cat from me.
I hope you’re great.
PS. How was the concert?
