And what if I smile to the left, to the window, as if there were someone there? It’s not a big deal that the waving curtains answer back. They answer me instead of you. And what when all these rooms are quiet? And what when all the wardrobes are empty? Do you see?

As if it were a film set.

Me – at one end of the world – I am in a hurry, I leave my coffee on the floor, next to the shoes, heels and keys, keys and heels, I compete with stairs and car horns… I live in my inertia. But I’m still yours. You – at the other end of the world, at the other end of my heart – you wake up, woken up by three alarm clocks in a choir, as if you hadn’t gone to sleep at all – coffee, cigarettes, noise from other people’s rooftops… A second coffee (Make it black again, please!), jogging in the park, alarm clocks, offices and people.

And what when you didn’t wake up next to me?

It’s fine! It doesn’t matter!

And in one and the same traffic jam – yours or mine – we stop – at the very same time – me – at one end of your heart, you – at the other end of my heart. And we smile at each other, we hug each other hurriedly, and I keep silent, … “Take care!” And you grumble, “You, too!” Keeping it to ourselves, staring through the window.

But I hear you. I feel you.

And then I know why and how I love you.

And who declared this love impossible? The one, built up by the patience to be away from your loved one? Love – having given the other some time? Trust? The one which doesn’t end with someone else’s random charming smile, flashing in What-Was-Its-Name-Again club? The one which is not misled by highly polished compliments. The one, woven out of inexplicable trust… Love, having the power to swallow itself for a moment and wipe its own tears.

And who dares claim that if I love you so much, but you are gone now, I have to rush into life as if there had never been you?

And who would think… True love, torn every single day by short distances and insecurities, denied as silly, reckless, egotistical on your behalf, and naïve on mine – according to other people’s words. Who would think that it would last?



Both of us seem to be enough.

And I don’t want to answer questions – why I don’t fall asleep next to you. I don’t want to explain who fixes the tap in the bathroom and who takes me to the cinema. “But if it’s not him, who then?”

For us, there is only one type of love – hard, misunderstood, confused and quiet. Torn apart, kept in silence in front of other people. Shared only between me and you.

One type… A true one! Only yours and only mine. The other types do not concern us!

Text: Eva Koleva

Photo: Press

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