Meeting my twin soul – writing together

etreinte-chantal peguiron

And the Christmas vacations passed without getting any sign of life from her

And I cursed my over-enthusiasm that had led me to write her too many messages in a row the last week before the holidays

So elated was I to finally touch love, that I had forgotten what prudence and moderation meant

During the vacations I wrote her once, telling her about myself, my relationship with my home country, Lebanon, where I was staying

I didn’t tell her of my nascent love for her not to scare her off, but I told her that I wanted to get to know her more, and hoped that our friendship would develop and deepen

Back to Switzerland, I had almost lost any hope of getting a reply from her

I had told the story to my mother, and she encouraged me to write her yet another time to try seeing her before she left for good

For that, I had to go against my pride, my pride of writing her again when she didn’t reply, my fear of getting this time a firm rejection

And I wrote her, a brief, prudent message, and she replied saying that the sheer length of my letter had daunted her, but she was and is happy to hear from me, and sure, why not to see each other

And so we went to spend a day in a small medieval town capped by snow

My questioning that had stopped for a moment after the magical instant in which I had started loving her resumed

Was she the right girl for me as I had thought? Was she the one I had waited for all my life?

How could she say to be a writer and yet be scared of the length of my message?

It didn’t make much sense

Deep down, I wondered if she was afraid of loving me too

If she was afraid because she already was in a relationship in her home country

Especially that her parents split up had left her with an aversion for conflicts and separations

I couldn’t and didn’t want to make anything about it

The snowy medieval city under a bright sun, and the brown and red hills around covered by leafless trees were beautiful

But our time together was not as magical as the night before the vacations

I did not see her true face again, until I wondered if I had ever seen it

If it had only been a catch of my imagination and my whimsical hopes

Back in the train, she told me more about her current relationship and past inexperience

And asked me if I was currently in love with someone

I hesitated, and replied no

To my defense I could say I wasn’t sure yet if I loved her

But the truth is that I’d have been too afraid to tell her I loved her, and to hear her saying the words I didn’t want to hear, the ones that would cut all my hopes down

No, I preferred to live with my wild hopes of secret love, than with the harshness of reality

And after I replied and said I had never been in a relationship, I saw her face soften and her eyes almost moistened

And she told me she wished her current boyfriend had never kissed any girl before her

And we parted, promising each other to meet one last time before her final departure

We set the meeting for a Monday afternoon, and I was at our meeting place in time

But she didn’t show up

I waited for fifteen minutes

Half-an-hour

One hour

No trace of her

Had she fallen somewhere, as there was frosted snow on the sidewalks?

I started worrying and left the meeting place and started to walk the city

I walked toward her building, but the only time I had seen it was at night, and I wasn’t anymore sure which one it was, and anyway her name would not have appeared on the front door

Then I decided to go to the hospital, and asked if they had seen anyone with her name

But they didn’t, and I was glad to hear that, and yet saddened for I wondered why she didn’t show up as the only excuse I could think of had been blown away

It was already two hours of waiting and the night had fallen

I asked myself whether to drop the matter and live the city center to go home

But I couldn’t resolve myself on doing that, on not seeing her one last time

So I waited in the cold, roaming through the city, until I decided to sit down in a warm place where there’d be a wifi to be able to communicate with her

The only one that came to my mind was the mcdonald and I ordered something to eat

My waiting was already touching the third hour, when my phone rang

An unknown number, it was her

I didn’t understand what she was saying

She was crying

She had entirely forgotten our meeting

I remained very quiet, and she almost shouted at me, say something, say something

She expected me to be upset, angry, but I wasn’t

I just told her I still was in the town center

And she came

And she told me again her surprise in front of the quietness of my reaction, and how I had waited her for three hours

I didn’t reply, waiting for her had felt like the right thing to do

I didn’t tell her about all the details of my awaiting

We just moved away from the mcdonald to a little café in a medieval building

And there we sat and I ordered a tea to warm myself after all these emotions

And she told me about how she had started writing when she was young

Often with her friends at school, but of course, they were not as talented and perseverant as she was, and at a certain point their stories would be dropped

She had a problem finishing her stories, she had never finished any but the story about the immortal character she had sent me

And suddenly she looked into my eyes and asked me if I wanted to write with her

I felt intensely surprised and elated, the thought of writing a story with someone else had never crossed my mind

For me, writing was something deeply solitary

And I couldn’t imagine myself writing with anyone else

Except for her

She had already stirred my words, awakened long forgotten feelings dormant into my heart, triggered my inspiration for writing poetry

And I said yes

And she replied that she knew it would have happened soon or late

And suddenly the mood of the night toppled from miserable to glorious

And we started on the spot discussing our story

She pressed me, she wanted to hear my ideas which I was not used to express out loud

We immediately agreed on a story line

It would be a story taking place in Lausanne, where we were living, with two main characters of our age

Each of us would write one of the characters, one chapter from her point of view, one chapter from mine

The story would take place in the present, but it would revolve around the discovery of a medieval legend we made up and the journey of self-discovery of the characters

It resembled to our story, of course

That night all her being awakened, all her face radiated light

She was truly alive

She told me that the only thing that truly mattered to her was becoming a writer

She didn’t care as much about anything else

And she wanted to become the most famous writer of her home country, as she deemed the quality of fantasy novels there was poor

And when she said all that I knew I had not misjudged her

I knew I was right about the fire I had just glimpsed deep within her soul

I knew she spoke the entire truth

And I knew that my dream reached to hers

And finally I thought she was realizing it too

We exchanged our mails and skype to be able to continue discussing of the story as she’d travel away

And decided to use the google drive platform to write

It was an endless night

She spoke and spoke about the books and the characters she loved

She had loved the tenant of wildfell hall, my Christmas present

Saying that she was not as gifted to chose books for others as I was

Since she had offered a fantasy novel to her boyfriend which bored him and discouraged him from reading

And I wondered why she was with him, but didn’t say anything as she had told me she was in love with him

Unfortunately that night I was the one on a hurry, and we parted, with the promise to see each other one last time to further discuss our story line

 

What I have forgotten to tell you, dear listener

Is that that night I had written her a letter confessing my love

Along with two drawings, one of Lausanne and another of my home village in Lebanon, and a poem, and a list of novels I recommended her

But her three hours delay saved me from committing the mistake (?) of confessing my love too early, of blowing the pickaxe on my own foot, especially that my love letter wasn’t so beautiful, and that I say looking back

When she proposed to write together it convinced me not to give her the love letter, and as she went to the bathroom, I removed the letter from the envelope

And at the end before parting I gave her my other presents, the drawings, the poem, the book list

And she was truly happy, as that it was the kind of presents she could accept

 

The next day we met again, to discuss our story further

She had called it L’histoire Lausannoise

And we spoke a lot

And I gave her several recommendations which she took with so much earnestness it touched me

One of them was not engaging herself too fast least she’d do a mistake as her parents had done

And she repeated to me that my the intensity of my gaze scared her, but that perhaps now she was getting used to it

And I walked her back home, and we parted for good

I felt sad, wondering if I’d ever see her again, and she sensed my sadness, and she escaped barely saying goodbye

You can continue your reading with chapter 5 – separation

 

“Etreinte” is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron

 

Have you read the previous chapters of my story? If not, you can start with chapter 1 – the dream, or you can read chapter 3, falling in love

About Erik Vincenti Zakhia

Dear all, I will share with you many of my poems, short stories, drawings and paintings telling of my journey of self-discovery and my reflections about life, love, art, spirituality, sexuality, kundalini rise, and twin flames. You will also come across many paintings by Chantal Peguiron that are intimately related to my artwork. They all fall within the realm of Hazen. If you like it, don’t hesitate to subscribe and follow me on social media! May you have an inspiring visit!

4 comments

  1. continue!! voyons! C’est très beau

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Pingback: Meeting my twin soul – separation | Erik Vincenti Zakhia

  3. Pingback: Meeting my twin soul – falling in love | Erik Vincenti Zakhia

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