I thought of you today in the shower. Of what you have to say to me. Of what awaits me when you’ll get off that airplane and meet me. How will you react? Will you break down your walls? Will you feel what you felt when you left? Will you be loving, caring, close to me while you’ll be here? Will you think of me in your sleep? Will you tell me that you love me? It’s very confusing and I’m afraid. In some sense, I have an idea what you want to tell me. That you need more time, that you need to find out who you can love, that you need to find other people and try being with them, too. That you need more space. But I want closeness and the feeling of being loved back. It’s difficult, being here, alone, with a heavy heart.

You taught me how to sleep naked. I miss doing that, I miss your care of teaching me and gently showing me the way in so many things. I miss your careful, beautiful way of introducing me to new things to discover, new things to explore and new ways of seeing things. I miss finding new facets of life that I can see through you and then remember you for having taught me that. I miss associating new places, new parts of my life with you.

I would like to show Hungary to you. I would like to take you to Szeged and I would like to take you to Budapest. I would like to hang out at bars, show you the vista from Corvinterasz. I would like to show you where I lived, where I grew up. I want to make you part of my history. I would like to have Christmas with you. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to.