My last few memories **

You could see that he was tired. His eyes were unfocused, his smile almost reluctant. But he did talk to me, for maybe fifteen minutes, he mentioned every single insignificant thought that crossed his mind. I don’t even know how aware of my presence he was, however, I was too aware of his. I listened to every word he said, not knowing how to respond, thinking about the dreams that had disturbed my nights for almost three weeks now. The dreams were about the very guy that was talking to me, and for some reason I so eagerly wanted to share, not the dreams themselves but just the fact that I had dreamt about him.

From time to time his eyes shifted from a certain point in the distance to his cell phone, as he tried to spend his last few call credits by sending text messages to a Philipina that mattered to him. We were going home, we were leaving our newly made friends behind and were taking the memories of our extraordinary experiences in the Philippines with us. I knew, while sitting next to him at the airport, that this was probably our last chance to talk. I had no idea when I would see him again, and the seat number printed on my boarding pass was nowhere near his.

Just as the journey had drained his energy away, it had affected my clear thinking and my perception of right and wrong. (Or was it just his presence blurring my mind?) Nevertheless, I told him right there and then, surrounded by people who shouldn’t be hearing the things I said: “You know what’s odd? Since we came here, whenever I closed my eyes and fell asleep, I dreamt of you.” Suddenly he looked more awake than he did a few seconds ago. “What kind of dreams?” He asked me. I couldn’t think of a way to explain myself further, but I owed that to him now. “Just forbidden dreams.” I had to repeat myself three times because my timid whispering didn’t reach him the first two times. He made a joke to lighten things up, and then there was silence.

Even though I desperately wanted to stretch the conversation as long as possible in order to determine his state of mind, I knew there was not much time left. And even if there had been enough time, I wouldn’t have known what to say. At that moment, I had to accept the fact that my impulsively made confessions were leading us nowhere, that he wasn’t going to reassure me in any way, and that the awkwardness between us wasn’t going to fade until our next meeting that hadn’t even been planned yet.

After boarding he disappeared from my sight. As the plane took off, I tried to ban our short conversation from my mind in which I partially succeeded. I was able to fall into a light sleep, although I woke up every now and then due to uncomfortable seats and meals that were served at the weirdest times. I can’t remember dreaming at all that night. During my conscious moments I watched some movie scenes from 'The beach', and hoped that time would pass more quickly. It passed eventually, in a strange way though. As a result of long-distance traveling I experienced a phenomenal sunrise that lasted for at least five hours.

We said goodbye at Schiphol Airport. Since our last conversation, we hadn’t shared more than a few meaningless words which was no different from what I expected or even hoped. When we walked around to kiss all our travel companions goodbye, I was still extremely aware of him. Just like I had been every single day of these three weeks whenever he was around, even when my back was turned towards him. (I guess nine out of ten times that I had felt his eyes on me were unjustified.) I saved my last hugs and kisses for him, just because I couldn’t face him sooner. I couldn’t face standing in front him while being incapable of knowing his thoughts.

It’s been two days now… and I’m waiting for my cell phone to make that familiar sound. Not exactly sure of what I wish to happen, not knowing what I should or shouldn’t do. I just know that I’m waiting. Waiting for his next move, hoping for it to be gentle.