“Has anything changed with your health?” she asks at every check-up. I usually answer, “No.” But last Tuesday, I said, “Actually, yes. I’ve changed my diet, lost eight kilos, and started working out again.” Whether all of this has actually helped my teeth, I’m not sure, but it felt nice to share it with her. In return, she shared her favorite vacation moments and asked questions in between, to which I could hardly respond with all the tools in my mouth. But in the end, I was able to leave satisfied. See you again in six months for the next dental check-up.
Today, however, brushing my teeth is different. I take the tube out of the completely useless cardboard packaging and open it. I usually lose that little piece of silver foil from the opening somewhere in my bathroom. I gently squeeze the tube to put some toothpaste on my toothbrush, and to my surprise, blue toothpaste comes out.
I look sheepishly at my cheap toothbrush, as if it has just betrayed me. This toothpaste was always white. Why is it suddenly blue? I check the tube to confirm that I didn’t accidentally buy a different variant. No, it’s exactly the same toothpaste I always buy. I pull the old tube out of the trash and compare the two. And then I finally see that the manufacturer’s name is different. The little logo is completely different and has a different name.
I decide to go ahead and brush my teeth with the new toothpaste. It tastes different, and my mouth reacts differently too. I think back to the moment when you said you wanted me and spat in my mouth. And just like my old toothpaste, you’ve now disappeared for a while without me really noticing. Replaced by blue goo that I still taste an hour later. Just like I still tasted you hours later.
I wipe the toothpaste residue from my sink and wash the rest down. There’s a shirt staring at me from the laundry basket that no longer smells like you. Today, I thought I recognized your perfume when I walked behind someone in the city. But I always mix up your body scent and your perfume, and to this day, I still don’t know exactly what the difference is.
I just hope that one day, you won’t suddenly become a different toothpaste, and I won’t realize it until you’re already gone.
It takes an incredibly long time to get over a crush. There’s no manual. Online, you can find all sorts of tips about distancing yourself, but who actually does that when they’re in love? I’m in love, so I can’t distance myself from the person I want to see every day and night. That endless, insufferable longing. A message, a photo, or a conversation and my heart skips a beat.
It’s the sad realization that there are plenty of other people who can give me what I long for, and maybe even in a less complicated way. But you always want the things that seem most impossible to get. It hurts, but it heals in a way, too. Give it a little more time, and then the rest will come. Right?
The Empress speaks to me. “It’s time to just enjoy it now,” she says, somewhat regretfully. I burst out laughing, but it comes from discomfort, not because I actually find the situation funny.
I let the sword in my hand clatter to the ground, because I’ve finally found peace in being with you. I have no idea where the sword came from or how it ended up in my hand. I probably thought I had to fight, a strange habit, because it’s what I usually do with situations that cause me pain. But this is not a battle. This is learning how to deal with emotions I can’t control. This is love taking a form that fits me, that fits us. A way we can be together in our own way of loving, without rules or long-term expectations.
The fantasy world bursts like a soap bubble against my forehead, right between my eyes. The soap stings, but after blinking a few times, my vision clears. The endless summer ends, and it’s time to leave.
I suddenly feel tied to the house, yet I want to go back, back to my own city, my own house, my own bed. I see myself lying in pieces, like a necklace scattered across the floor, like a starry sky. Bead by bead, I pick myself up again and thread myself back together. I can do this. I’ve always done it this way.
I step onto the train back to Rotterdam. And for the first time in a long time, it feels okay to go back. To leave, and not stay here.
And so, I eventually got over my obsessive infatuation. Maybe it was the sudden concern for your well-being that brought me back to reality. Or maybe it was the way you responded when I expressed those concerns. You said you really knew what you were doing and could take care of yourself just fine.
I didn’t want to take care of you at all. I was just worried because of your sudden, destructive messages. You could have known that, after all, I shared my own bad experiences with you. These are sides of you that I don’t know so well yet. The other side seems more beautiful. Blinding, almost. That pure side, where everything is still a white canvas, a new discovery.
It once felt worth dying for, dramatically, like in a movie scene. But I know better now. Life may feel like a movie, but no one is ultimately worth dying for. The storm has settled, and the sun slowly climbs back up toward the horizon. I’ve found a new sense of peace in my body. My mind will catch up later.
In the end, it brought me here: the sudden realization that this wasn’t my story at all. A silence fell, and I could finally hear myself again. Do you get it now? This person is not for you, not in the way you had imagined it so beautifully. This endless longing for a relationship is pointless; in the end, it only hurts you.
And yet, being in love is beautiful and pure. And sometimes, in situations like these, heartbreaking. “But less bad than it used to be, right?” I try to convince myself. Because now you’re grown up, and you can put things into perspective, or maybe just into a different perspective. It still takes time, pain, and effort. But in the end, we’ll get there. And for that, I need your help too.
It also feels like a relief to be completely honest, as if a heavy blanket has been lifted off me, and I can move freely again. You’ve finally deciphered your seat number in the dark and found your place in my head. You still move restlessly from time to time, because the seats aren’t that comfortable.
I can listen to other songs again, not just sad ones about unrequited love. I can go about my day without constantly thinking about you, although you still cross my mind now and then. And even though I still like you, I can now see you as a loving friend. It’s also about trusting change, no matter how scary the unknown can be.
We look at each other on the couch, and for the first time, I see it. As if we can read each other’s minds, we both start smiling. We’ve found a way through the confusion, and now a weight is lifted from our shoulders. Maybe more from mine than yours, because you carried part of my burden.
You’ve seen me struggle with my feelings and have consciously protected me by slowly letting me get used to your world. I thought I had to earn a place in that world, but I was already there all along.
Like a stranded tourist, I’ve slowly found my way around the country. I’ve learned the basics of your language, and now I understand you better. I can say “good morning” and order a sandwich. I know when you’re joking and when you’re not. I know the difference between doing you a favor and pulling too hard on your nipple. I also know what I can expect from you, and what I can’t.
I know that a relationship together isn’t on the cards, or at least not in the traditional, monogamous way. But my appreciation and love for you can grow in another form. A close friendship is enough. Sometimes you even joke about not being single for much longer, but I no longer see that as something I need to wait for.
No end goals, no labels, no reasoning. We still have fun together. It’s all still happening naturally. We make each other laugh, listen to each other’s stories, and begin to create new ones together.
There will still be moments I’ll have to get used to. And I have more adjusting to do than you, because I’m the more sensitive one of the two. But maybe one day you’ll be jealous. And then we’ll talk about it. I can’t fully imagine that day yet.
And yes, you’re still incredibly handsome.
Despite the fact that you now shamelessly fart all the time, and they smell worse than your downstairs neighbor’s trash bag that’s been sitting in thirty-degree heat all day, I keep asking things like whether you think I could ever take the receiving role during sex without blushing. You’ve always been completely comfortable with this, but it’s something I’m still learning. The day I take on that role will come. Please be patient with my ass.
Maybe I’m doing it a little on purpose, because I know you share yours so easily with other men. You know by now that you are the only man I have sex with, but that’s purely because I can only focus on one person at a time. You probably get a bit of a kick out of that exclusivity, because you’re a bit crazy. Not crazy, just unique compared to the rest. As you once said to me.
You think I’m sweet and still call me “lover,” and it’s all beautiful and kind. My expectations have finally adjusted, and I can be with you, be intimate with you, and listen to your stories without them hurting me.
A dramatic tear rolls down my cheek as I look at you with red eyes. You sit up straight and wipe it away with your thumb. “Is this a tear?” you ask, incredulous.
“I’m a sensitive guy,” I reply, sarcastically.
And we roll over in bed again, panting and sweating the Sunday away.
Martijn Winkel 