The fall

At times have I experienced this very strange feeling. Though mostly I('d) feel rather blue, every now and then I('d) get the overwhelming sensation... this burning desire... a will not to die. Which is somewhat unusual, since my attitude towards death was always a friendly one. I wouldn't describe it as being exactly suicidal, but more accepting, or even acknowledging of its assets.

I guess the first time I got this unusual feeling was at the age of 17. I had just kissed my first boyfriend, which coincided with the first time I ever kissed a boy. Maybe was the curiosity to find out what so many people talked about all the time... this so called happiness. Perhaps that was first time I was ever happy and, because of it, I did actually care whether I'd die or not.

That feeling did not last very long. As I would find out soon enough, I was not cut out for romance, even though romance was always in my head, or in my heart. For the many years to come, I'd always be in love, but receiving love would always be something very rare. So I would not feel that will not to die very often.

Four years ago, I had a chance to have that feeling. After collecting two great loves who had broken my heart, I met the person I'd love the most. We'd be together for some time, it's true. But I can't really say that our being together meant feeling loved. It's hard to spot a single moment when I actually felt he loved me - as I did mentioned it in a past post.

But there actually was one moment when I felt that I could be loved. It was soon after we first met. We walked for a a few blocks - we'd planned to spend some time together in an apartment my family owned in the city he lived. I was so nervous to be next to someone so beautiful and with whom I wanted to be so badly. And I wasn't sure if he felt anything as such. But then, as we took the elevator, he did something very close to love: he kissed me, out of the blue. That was my chance to have the feeling again.

It's true nothing would work out between us after that. Even at the end of that very day, as I expected we'd spend the night together, he told me he had to go home. The fact the I traveled for hours to be with him, and mainly the fact that I was already in love with him - which I would accidentally tell him the following week -, did not seem to matter at all.

But now, so many years later, I find myself wondering. How perfect would life be if it had ended right after that first kiss. If I'd ceased to exist having received a kiss from the person I'd love the most, and not witness his following ripping of my heart. How perfect it would be to die when I wanted to live the most.