A CERTAIN UNFINISHED STORY

I don't know where this story should begin. Perhaps when I was born, or perhaps when HE was born.

Exactly... HE; a charming, not-too-tall, brunette with green eyes. Seemingly an ordinary boy. A boy from the housing estate, like many others. Yet if you looked at him closely, he was rather shy, cut off from the world, as if a little lost, trying with all his might to be like everyone else, to be one tiny particle, indistinguishable from the rest in this gray mass of housing estate youth.

But that's not what this story is about, not about him, not about me, but about what happened when there was something like US.

Here begins the story not so much of an unhappy love, a love without a past or future, but of a love rejoicing in the present, a love that was slipping through our fingers.

It all seemed to begin innocently: a friend, friendship, and a great affection for a man I knew I should trust.

This story began on May 8, 2003, when I was writhing in pain upstairs, surrounded by people I knew, yet who were complete strangers to me. That's when everything began to change...

Happily, yet unhappy, I arrived home. And then, for the rest of the summer, alone with myself and my online acquaintances, in a dark room, withdrawn into myself, I battled with thoughts of happy love, with my fantasies and feelings.

And that's when it all began.

May 20th

. More friends. More insignificant people passing through my life. They appeared and disappeared, never intending to reappear. Another conversation. A man, or rather a boy. Twenty years old. He says something about himself, I about myself, then says he's too old, something I never learned until the end of my life. I thought: that was nice, but if he states something's wrong at the outset, I won't be pushy.

He contacted me later. I don't remember exactly when. And so a bond began to form between us. We talked about everything: love, life, and death. It was wonderful, until a certain, significant moment…

It was already September, and we spoke a little less, but I still spent every free moment talking to him. And that's when everything changed, when the words that meant so much to me were spoken: "I love you." I fell silent like never before, not knowing how to react. To be happy, but what? After those long seconds, without hesitation, I replied: "Just without such declarations." If only I could change that, turn back time and erase those words from my life, perhaps everything would be different. Explaining that he loved me as a friend didn't help much. Then I somehow got used to the idea that there was someone who cared about me. Declarations of love began, charming pictures, and finally descriptions of one, then another kiss. Gentle words from a guy who seemed completely alien to me. Words from a guy who asked at every turn if he wasn't going too far. I could have stayed like that for the rest of my life. I felt needed and loved, and although words couldn't replace physical contact, I knew I'd never felt so wonderful in someone's company.

Like all good things, this one had to come to an end. We slowly lost touch. A pleasant beginning, a kiss in greeting, everyday pleasantries, then a long, awkward silence that neither of us could break. Our conversations were based solely on dreams we'd always considered unattainable. A description of our first meeting. I still remember every detail. Every gesture he made. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can see him standing among the crowds on the platform. He holds a bag and a small bouquet of flowers. He smiles and approaches me. He says in that low voice of his, almost whispering, "Hi," and hands me the flowers. I return his charming, sincere smile. The platform is already empty. People seem to have evaporated, or maybe they're simply not there just for us... He drops the bags on the ground and comes closer. He embraces me and touches his lips to mine. I feel a pleasant shiver spread through my body.

I take a step back.

I don't know why, maybe I'm afraid he'll disappear, or maybe he just doesn't want to... He grew sad, and I knew I was hurting him again. "I'm sorry," was all I could manage at that moment. I know what he's thinking now, "that I'm apologizing again for no reason," but I also know he won't tell me, not yet. He changes the subject: "Will you walk me back to the hotel?" Well, my response is just a nod. He holds out his hand to me, then asks, "Will you give me your hand?" Without hesitation, I give it to him, and I feel like I've never felt before, like I'm in heaven. I feel his soft skin beneath my fingertips, his hand is cold, his touch so gentle that I feel like it might slip away from his, never to be found again. But he squeezes it tightly enough to keep me from letting go, weakly enough for me to walk away and leave him. We walk together, close together, through the wet streets of Warsaw. We reach the hotel and stand in front of his room. He opens it for me, gallantly, and asks, "Will you come in?" I enter, a little unsure, feeling like I'm in the wrong place, like this is all an unattainable, imaginary dream. "I'm daydreaming," I think. "Make yourself comfortable..." is his soft, uncertain voice again. I take off my coat and sit on the bed. He watches him, wants to memorize it, trying to notice even the smallest details of his mannerisms, his movements, everything that made him, for me, the perfect person, and therefore, unattainable. He looks at me strangely, as if he thinks I'm afraid of him. He stops pacing and sits down beside me. Tears begin to well up in my eyes. I rest my head on his shoulder and feel the salty liquid running down my cheeks. But they aren't tears of regret or pain, not tears of sadness or despair, but not tears of happiness either, no. They were tears of love. His gentle hand brushes my cheek, and his caring voice whispers, "Don't cry, kitty." I hug him and never want to let go, clinging to him like a drowning man to a wheel thrown at him, but I don't want this wheel taken away from me when I'm on the other side of my life. We sit like that for a long time, and suddenly he asks me, "Will you stay the night?" My heart starts beating faster and tells me to answer, "Yes," but my mind and lips say, "No, I can't, my parents are home, but tomorrow they're going to the country, and I'm alone." "Can I come over?" he asks. "Of course," I try to smile and hug him again.

He wants to walk me to the bus stop and watch me drive away, and I can't stop him.

I also remember the second day, though less clearly, but just as pleasantly. He arrives at my place. I open the door and let him into the apartment. A step back. "Hi." "Hi," nothing special, one might even say coldly. He takes off his jacket and I hang it in the closet. He approaches me, wanting a kiss. A step back. "Make yourself comfortable," I try to be polite. "Would you like something to drink?" I finally ask. "I'd love to, juice," he replies, probably also trying to be polite and hide his disappointment at my less-than-effusive greeting. He pretends I haven't noticed. "Make yourself comfortable, this is my room," I gesture to the door opposite. He enters slowly, looks around, and says, "Nice." "Thank you," I reply, rather surprised by his comment about my colorful, rather childish room, largely decorated by my mother. "Sit down," I indicate a chair. He does sit down, but he doesn't stop there. "But you sit too, on my knees." He manages to avoid it rather clumsily, and I end up in the corner of the bed. Silence, a buzzing in my ears, I get up and turn on the radio. I'm standing opposite him now. He rises from his chair and whispers, "Come to me." I approach slowly, but not too close, just to be sure. I ask, "More?" and hear his reply, "More." A step forward. We're face to face now, I feel his restless breath on my lips. Closer and closer to him. I lay my head on his shoulder and snuggle up against him. He brushes my hair back from my face with his hand and strokes my cheek. His lips are already on mine, pressed together in a gentle, unforced kiss. He whispers, "I have to go now, the last bus is in five minutes." Startled as if from a beautiful dream, I ask in a bleary voice, "Are you going home today?" "No, to the hotel." This answer gives me breath back and allows me to look at the situation soberly. But I still want him by my side all the time, so I say without much thought, "Stay…" "For the night?" he asks, and as usual, I just nod. "You don't want to?" I ask hesitantly, "I do, of course I do. Where should I sleep? Maybe on the couch, I don't want to cause any trouble." "Stop, you don't," I reply with a smile. "Can we sleep together?" He remains silent, staring into the distance, his thoughts already wandering to another reality, and I begin to regret my suggestion. "I'm sorry…" I say, my voice breaking. I take a step back. "Stop. Of course I do. Maybe we can lie down right now?" I nod. We lie down next to each other, close, face to face. He covers us with the blanket and slowly closes his beautiful green eyes. I gently move closer to him and kiss his lips, whispering, "Goodnight, honey." He smiles gently, as only he can, and we fall asleep, embraced, into a dream from which no one can wake me, no one, not even him.

At this point, you can add your own twists to my story. For some, it will end with a true reunion, for others, with separation and the pain both lovers will inflict on each other. But that's your decision. Remember, however, that this story has no ending, and that the more times you read it, the more it will have a different ending for you. Or maybe I'm wrong? Maybe what someone once told me always holds true. "It couldn't have a happy ending. It couldn't have a happy ending. It couldn't have a happy ending."

And the story defies all laws and continues, happy or not, but it continues. It continues and will continue forever. Why? Because it follows the principle "One heart, one love. One true love," and that one true love was this one. Unique and unrepeatable. Unique and so ordinary. Unique, yet so often encountered. A unique love among millions of the same.

The ending isn't happy, though I know it could have been, that I could have changed everything with a single word. But he chose her, and I chose death, death out of love for you, my dearest. A death that will bring me solace, because I mean nothing in this world.