Don't let us know
(Sequel to Don't let them know about us)
We never really knew what love was all about. We thought we felt it streaming up and down our veins, but the nice feeling quickly went away. I didn't know how to love Sara and she didn't know how to love me. Presumably, there is a higher art of loving whose techniques and science do last forever. But we never got to master them. The good old days are in my head still good, and still old, but they seem like just scattered seconds.
I went to Spain, then I moved to Mexico, then I moved back to England, then I settled in Spain again. She moved to Sweden and stayed there. Yes, she stayed there, paralyzed, confused, angry, annoyed, sick of me. And I travelled the world, cynic and lying to all those who asked me "Are you alright?"
What brought us to a separation so cold and raw? I can only guess. Her version of our story is vague, at times unrealistic, but I think it is actually the only one that's true to what really happened. Sometimes my memory differs a lot from what I have written down. Maybe I just don't want to accept that ugly things happened, most of them because of me and my wrong usage of that illusory thing called love.
I'd like to say that we sorted out our problems, and that we grew to be mature and that we swore to love each other against all obstacles and impediments, for we would stick through thick and thin. I'd like to say that we are happy and that we didn't make the same mistakes over and over again. But that's not what this part of the story is about. That's not what happened.
Within all the darkness that has surrounded us for the past year, I might be seeing a dim, flickering light. But I can only hope.
Welcome to the tempest of an incendiary love.
(In order to read Don't let us know, go to my homepage where you'll find the story in a separate link)