‘You are not still restless in love, are you?’ – he asks me after reading my blog.
Yes, there is a ‘he’ in my life. And yes, I still am.
Although it’s been a few good months so far, since I came back, not wanting to run away, just being happy… being here.
Then he whispers something, while gently kissing my forehead.
‘What was that?’, – I am not sure I heard it right. I thought he said the words that every girl wishes to hear. But I have to double check. It hasn’t been long enough, at least not long enough for me.
Instead of feeling like a calm sea, the way I did before he showed up, I feel gentle waves, now that he’s in my life. Sooner or later they will either turn into bigger waves, bigger still, maybe even a storm. Or they will simply disappear.
Nothing lasts forever.
The funny thing is, I don’t believe in ‘forever’ anymore.
All the times in the past when I’d get involved with a guy, I’d want us to be together forever, no other way around it.
Now, I just want us to be together, for as long as it lasts.
My daughter asks me why people die. I tell her they do because that’s how it is in this life. I do tell her too, that nothing lasts forever.
‘People are born and then they die. That’s the circle of life’, – I explain. ‘Everything sooner or later comes to an end’.
Life has showed me that there is no ‘forever’, and the fairy tale endings should be left at ‘they lived happily’, without the ‘ever after’.
She may not understand it yet, but she repeats it back to me.
‘One day you will die, too?’ – she’s curious.
‘Yes, I will’.
‘One day I will die, too?’ – she’s getting it now.
‘Yes, you will, but not for a very very long time. We’ll be together for many many years’.
‘When we celebrate death, we celebrate life’.
Sometimes at night, when I‘m stroking her hair while putting her to sleep, my girl in return caressess my hair. ‘Sleep, mommy, sleep’, – she shushes me.
‘This is what my extraordinary life is all about, and she is all mine’, – I think to myself at moments like that. ‘I would not exchange this to any other kind of life’.
And even though in many ways I could never be like Carrie Bradshaw, I have a passion for writing just like her.
‘Maybe one day I’ll write about you in my blog’, – I tell him playfully.
‘But I don’t want to die’, – he objects. ‘The men you write about die’, – he looks a little bit worried.
‘They do’, – I silently agree. That is my story before you.