The sea...
The waves were coming and going like memories, like a rocking chair. My room didn’t have a window with a view to the sea, but we could feel it, like an inexorable force that even without the physical presence would cross doors and walls. The rain was harder. The October rain, closing the summer. Whenever it got lighter, I would go out and walk along the beach...
Being alone is great... feeling lonely is horrible.
I didn’t feel lonely, even though the memories insisted in tormenting me… Every time I smoked a joint I had a crisis of conscience... It’s not that I regretted anything; I had walked that far, I wouldn’t go back...
Particularly that day, his image was in my head... I think it was because his anniversary was so close and I was thinking “this year I won’t have to cook the cake”...
Surely he was suffering, he was the kind of guy that gives huge proportions to everything, a spoiled kid, playing a depressed intellectual of some French art movie... He has probably already noticed the missing of a Chet Baker CD... the CD we normally played whenever we made love… Better for him... at least he wouldn’t have a soundtrack for his pain.