Night brushes against the window. Out in the darkness, ivory and yellow window slits stare through the blinds with detached curiosity. I gather the blanket around my shoulders, wide-awake in the middle of the night – from cold slithering through the balcony door; and the fanthom scent of jasmine still lingering by the bed; and thoughts racing endlessly, shapelessly, mercilessly, just inches below the veil of consciousness.



читать дальшеThe jasmine blooms are gone, have been for the past couple of days, frail flowers failing to survive replanting. The plant is a blob of dark green, soft spikes reaching out in cautious yet friendly welcome. I still remember the aroma, soft, subtle, intricate, seductive. Jasmine, well known in the cosmetic industry since antiquity, strong effect on women, low to moderate effect on men….



Jasmine, a relict from childhood. Tall branches prostrating to the sky, ancient, glorious, and radiant. New place and new home, small bushes cuddling together where bare ground lay only days ago, immediately transforming the foreign landscape into cozy habitat. I remember the pale petals close to my pillow, a lullaby of sight and scent.



I remember plans and dreams, neatly organized, priorities and expectations marching soundly into the future. The illusion of order still lingers.



I shiver. It must be cold. I draw the cat closer, resting my head cautiously on its warm side, listening as it begins purring obediently. It’s eyes glisten with a myriad of expressions – still a mystery to me after seven years. Its frame is small, soft and delicate under my touch.



Is that how my own body feels under the caress of a much larger hand?



When did things become so complicated?



The emotional detachment I always felt even with relatives was supposed to act as the safety net, helping to keep boundaries and priorities intact. The plan was perfect.



I forgot that words are magic. I forgot what I wrote several years ago. ‘…To be in love is akin to breathing. It’s the only things that keeps you truly alive, the soft whisper adding meaning to your every action, intoxicating sweetness and pain…’



Saying ‘I want to be “a little in love” with every person I see’ sounded so appealing. It was a beautiful concept rectifying any doubts and conventional moral conflicts. When did I stop saying and began feeling that? When did I lose control? And is it even possible to feel this longing for several people at once? Am I such a masochist – in soul, not body – that I cannot live without longing for something I cannot have, and on nights like this I will always, always find myself alone?



Because whatever I feel will not be unburdened on you. You will spend this night longing for your wife, for the dream you had and lost. You have several names, lives and shapes. You only have one thing in common – me. And I am lying on the floor, fingers dancing where yours haven’t tonight, wishing to be crushed by your weight, your strong embrace scaring my demons away. But in the end we face our enemies alone.



And I write this because I couldn’t otherwise, because it came, and I couldn’t hold it back, but I will never post where you could see it.



Because I swore to guard your comfort and privacy, and I will. Because that’s what a companion and a hetaera does. She is the core archetype, symbolizing the “marriage of distinct individualism with capacity for care and nurture… the experience of creative desire lessening the grip of fear and allowing for exploration, discovery and ultimately, love”. Only archetypes don’t change, and people do, and I am a person. But to you, I should remain an archetype. And that’s why you’ll never know…