Absolutely nothing

And I sat there by the shore, looking at the sea. It was really cold, and the gloves were barely keeping my hands warm. Most of the time, it was calm and rhythmic, but on that day, something had changed. The color of the water was a deep blue, almost black, and it flowed clumsily and wildly, as if it carried the furious guilt of the world and could no longer bear it. I was staring at the angry, rolling waves as they crashed against the naked cliffs and greedily embraced the shore.

On that day, the sea was so indecisive, and yet, despite her hesitation, she remained exactly what she was: a natural, sacred force that made you feel terrified even at the thought of confronting her.

It had been a while since the last time I was here. Everything seemed so different now. The season, the time, the weather. Even myself. I recognized the place completely, and I definitely remembered that I had been here before. I had only forgotten the equivalence in my memory. When something is worth forgetting, it usually involves some kind of feeling. And I am certain you deserved my relentless oblivion. I remember you and me looking at the sea, but I don’t remember how it made me feel. And I have that bitter sense that all the pathways connecting the images of us with those feelings have been erased over time on my own map.

— Had they been erased, or did you deliberately choose to delete them?

— They had been erased.

— No, you deleted them.

— Maybe I did. Does it matter anymore?

— “We don’t erase things that didn’t hurt us,” you tell me, and I sense your hesitation for a second.

— And do you feel better now, without those memories?

— I am not in constant pain anymore. I can finally sleep, and I don’t smoke that much.

— Would you ever consider going back in time to rebuild the pathways you destroyed?

(Again and again) I think silently to myself.

— Not for the world. Absolutely not!
— So, you… also forgot me.

— Maybe I did, yes!

But I remember.

I remember your unrestrained darkness.
Your cold hands on my skin when you traced abstract, silky lines on my body.
Your clear, transparent eyes and the way you would tell me “maybe” when I asked if we would go to the movies.
Your joy, like a little child’s, when you opened the presents I gave you, and that kiss on my cheek right after, as a reward.
The calmness in your gaze when we fought, and when you told me with confidence that all the people who have loved each other so much are always so different.
The stories you used to narrate when I couldn’t sleep at night and my eternal effort to guess how they would end.
Your obsession with counting the steps to our bed, and the painful miles I had to cross just to reduce the distance between us.
The innocence of your choices and the cruelty with which you faced their consequences.
Your strong will to give up on life on weekends and your stress on Mondays.
The way you exhaled cigarette smoke like a secret, and all the lighters I slipped into your pocket, knowing you would lose them.
“Red looks good on you,” I remember telling you, and you smiled with such pride.
The big wooden table in our living room and the white color of the wall.
— Will you paint it? I kept asking, even though I already knew you would say “tomorrow” every time.
The energy around you when you fell, without resistance, into your melancholy, and the times you just wanted to be lost in your silence.
The scars on your body, the shame you felt, and how carefully you always covered them.
The wavering light by our bed and the double blankets for the cold.
Your loving kiss on my forehead in the mornings, and your passionate, wild touch in the evenings.
The inexpressible safety of your hug and all the melodies you made me hear—melodies that didn’t seem to exist anywhere else.
The deep blue, almost black, color of your eyes when you were angry, and the endless craving for answers that I never gave you.
Your indisputable ability to interpret everything I didn’t say and my vital need to let you do so.

“Do you remember anything of me after all?” you ask me with your eyes.
“Absolutely nothing!” I respond, with a nostalgic smile back at you.