Alone on the platform

I'm standing alone on the platform, waiting for a train that won't come. I know. And yet I'm waiting...

When a year and a half ago I left the man who was once the love of my life but had become my torment, I was fed up with relationships. I wanted to be alone. And I guess I was happy despite everything. For a while... Then it turned out that being alone was hard and miserable. I entered a phase of searching for The One. Paranoid and desperate, I looked at every guy I met as a potential "conquest," jealously observing couples cuddling. I really, really wanted to fall in love, lose myself, and burn... I once agreed to a "carpe diem" arrangement, and I also became entangled in a tempestuous emotional affair with a married man. Fortunately, I had the sense to back out in time. I maintained a busy social life, attending every party and vigilantly watching for The One on the horizon... To no avail.

Then, I met a Very Wise Man who told me, "It's too soon. You haven't recovered yet. Your train may be arriving at the station where your One and Only is waiting, but you're still going too fast. If he tried to take you in his arms now, he'd be run over." I rebelled, I denied it, I refused to believe it. And then I met Him online. A great friend, on the same wavelength, with the same sense of humor, and with a mind-blowing intelligence. Fresh off a breakup with the Love of my life. He would have been perfect, if not for one small detail I knew from our first conversation, which put him completely beyond my reach. I found in him a true friend, a confidant, a patient listener when I teetered on the brink of breakdown. We talked more and more often, for longer and longer periods, about increasingly intimate topics. We confided in each other about our struggles with loneliness, our constant lack of money. He knew things about me I'd never told anyone else. I didn't tell him either. We discovered an increasing affinity between our souls. Slowly, against all odds, I began to fall in love, carefully concealing it. I think he knew; after all, he was a reflection of my soul... Finally, he said he'd like to meet me, but... he was afraid. He wanted to, but he knew it wouldn't be possible. It was the first in a series of conversations about what was really going on between us. We crossed the usual boundaries of friendship, though no open confessions were made. I went, already knowing I had one, one chance from fate to meet the love of my life. A bit by chance, we spent a few days together. It was wonderful, magical, even metaphysical... And then I heard that he couldn't be anything more to me than a friend. That I could be an online friend, one of many, and if I didn't accept that, we had to cut ties. That our meeting, when we crossed the final barrier, was a mistake. That he knew he was hurting me, but he didn't want me to suffer even more. That he was sorry, but he couldn't, and never would, love me...

The sky fell on my head. Because even though I knew there was no chance of a relationship, I still held out hope. I knew something like that wouldn't happen twice in a lifetime... We didn't break up, I couldn't, he... Didn't he? We continued talking. At first, carefully avoiding too personal topics. Then, everything returned to the way it had been before. He told me the story of his difficult childhood, his long-term relationship, and I understood many things; I was no longer surprised by his reactions, his fear of commitment, his inability to create a stable relationship... He also told me he still loved his ex. Even though it was a toxic love, even though they had so little in common, even though they'd broken up dozens of times. He also said that if she were like me, "it would be simply the quintessence." I cried at my computer, furious at fate for placing the perfect man in my path a few years too late.

A few months passed, and we were still in constant contact. While I was at work, he turned off his instant messengers. He'd turn them on after receiving a text: "I'm home." We started working on a joint project, occasionally breaking away to chat, exchange witty jokes, or console ourselves that the end was near. Even though we were so far apart, we often acted like an old married couple. I woke him up almost every morning by sending him a signal on his cell phone and waiting for a text: "Thnx, Kitten, I'm up," since he overslept for work after an all-nighter with me. He would virtually hug me when I was sad and "make" me tea when I came home tired. We talked online every day, often on my cell phone. I received dozens of texts from him when I didn't have internet access. We would cry with laughter together, sharing funny stories from everyday life. He would tell me he'd be home late: "Don't wait, Little One, go to sleep, you won't get enough sleep." We were pretending? Yes, I think we were pretending it was real, while simultaneously knowing that in real life we ​​would never be together. We shared our deepest thoughts, except for one... Did he know I loved him? He probably did, though I never told him, and I never will.

My train has stopped, I'm standing on the platform, waiting, knowing I'm waiting in vain. And yet, somewhere deep in my heart, a foolish, unnecessary hope lurks, refusing to let go of the thought that maybe, maybe not tomorrow, not in a month, not a year, but maybe someday, when life has straightened out for both of us...

I've heard more than once, when we've both thought the same thing simultaneously: "No one is as close to me as you."

Why is that? Why did I meet Him too late to undo the decisions I'd made long ago? Would it have changed anything? Could He have loved me then? I don't know. I knew I'd wait as long as I had the strength. A year, a few years, maybe a lifetime... Melodramatic as a clichéd romance novel, I know. But I also know that I've never loved so deeply, so unconditionally, giving my all, expecting nothing in return...

What next? Probably emptiness and more lonely waiting on the platform. I know, there's no point in it...

Now I'm sad, sometimes I cry, I often walk around the apartment imagining what it would be like if he were here with me. I could make him hot tea, his favorite, cook him his favorite for dinner, give him aspirin for the flu that's gripping him. My world is split in two. This real world is less real than this virtual one, and than the one I immerse myself in daydreams... I gaze pensively out the window, listening to the songs he sent me, I get lost in thought at work, dreaming up unrealistic scenarios. I remember every moment spent with him, how we hugged goodbye, how we held hands at the tram stop, how I slept in his arms, how wonderful it was to banter over the breakfast he made me... Was it all an act? Pretending? It's hard to believe, and yet I think it's the brutal truth. He doesn't love me. He said so himself, clearly and distinctly. Why was he always there, within arm's reach, yet separated by a glass window with the words "I don't love you" written on it? I don't know. I know that's what he wanted. I didn't force him, I didn't force him to talk to me, I didn't torture him with my love. Maybe he didn't even know about it? He knew... He was, after all, a reflection of my soul... He explained to me as if to a child that it was just friendship, that nothing more could happen between us, that I was wonderful and it wasn't my fault, that he was always the one who ruined everything, that with him you could only "go to the moor and forget everything," but he was a zero-sum candidate for partner, husband, father...

And me? Who am I? Who had I become? In the pursuit of the unattainable, I lost a part of myself. I raced home as if on wings, sent emails, launched instant messaging, and immersed myself in another world. His world. Just me, and Him. The sadness vanished at the sight of warm words on the screen, the tears dried after the first sentence. We fooled around, sometimes we talked about serious topics, sometimes we just stayed silent together as life once again piled a burden beyond our capacity. Every day together, even though we were apart. I became addicted. Him? I guess so too, though certainly not to this extent. And despite everything, even though it sounds idiotic, like the confession of a crushed teenager, I was happy. Truly happy. Despite the lack of prospects and opportunities. His presence on the other side of the screen, his voice on his cell phone, his photo, was enough for me. That was all I could hope for. My whole world...

After a while, another kick. He returned to his ex, the only one he truly loved. Surprisingly, I didn't even suffer much. I had sensed this long before, even though he denied it. But then again – I'm a reflection… In a way – I was relieved. I finally let go of hope, the foolish, hopeless hope I'd clung to, not realizing how unrealistic it was. Virtual reality. A thin yogurt instead of a loaf of warm bread shared at breakfast. He couldn't give me anything more, I knew that from the start. I wanted to cut off contact again, to stop reading his depressing emails, to stop replying to his increasingly infrequent texts. But we got a commission for a new project. We're together again, yet apart at the same time. Only – I'm not kidding myself anymore. I should hate him, I know. That would help me completely heal from this stupid, senseless love. I can't.

Following the "one-two punch" principle, I recently arranged a beer with a pretty cool guy. He also met me online. I was persuaded to meet up, even though I felt no attraction, no magic, no sparks on the screen. But I did, and in the morning I was surprised to discover that we'd spent the entire night chatting over a pint. He wasn't trying to hit on me; I think he sensed from the very beginning how deeply fraught I was. And something clicked. There's still no magic or metaphysics, but there's understanding, mutual sympathy, and the feeling that for the first time I'm dealing with someone normal. Without schizophrenia or rebounds, without the pain of existence, despite the scars from life's knocks. Normal, yet so... ordinary. Ordinary, like a slice of bread... He calls me every day, planning another meeting, and I watch with disappointment at how perfidious fate is. Similar situation, completely different feelings. If I'd met him earlier, I wouldn't have hesitated for a moment. And now...

Now I'm standing on the platform again, watching the train of my virtual love disappear into the distance. The wind blows away the trash, old newspapers, empty shopping bags. Empty and cold and wrong. I gather the broken pieces of my heart and don't know what to do. Will I dare to meet the one who's just getting off the train? Will I be able to love truly, not virtually? Someone who won't be a substitute, but a true partner, with whom I can share not only my thoughts but also my daily existence, who will be by my side through thick and thin, who will understand my dreams, just like he does, and at the same time, who will want to pursue them with me? I don't know.