leo burghaus

One day I just knew. Or maybe I knew all the time, and one day I became conscious. Maybe that day, the last piece fell into place, and I was now, behold, aware. That day, somehow, happened many days in a row. Something like 458 days. Or more. Not less. That one, unique, moment of realization happened too many times for me to count, and just kept happening. It became one big unveiling, full of a single instant of unique truth. Moments that can’t be remembered. Although I sometimes do. There was that time she walked down the beach, and joined our friends playing ball in the water. There was that time when I lost my nerves night-driving through Greece towns, in streets that were narrower than the car. She looked in my eyes, told me something of which I don’t recall the words but only the calmness they transmitted, and got us out of trouble like some mystical heaven-live being sent from a superior form of knowledge. There was that time when she send me her Eurovision night. There was the night at By Solà. There was the afternoon at Cala s’Agulla. And the one at ca na Clara. There were the 25 carefully selected Birthday presents. There was the first time she had a bad month, and I could see how she was able to handle it. There was the night running home in the rain, with our ice cream in the hand. There was that time, there were actually multiple ones, when I looked up from a book she gave me, and wondered how she had nailed my taste so much. There was also a time when I was alone in the supermarket, thinking about what she would like for dinner, and remember that she never once complained about any food I’ve made her. There was the time I came home from work, and she ran towards me to greet me, and I felt that this beautiful flat I had lived in for over 3 years was now not my home anymore, now it was home. There was the first Vermut & Soul. There was the second Vermut & Sould. There was the time you helped a little girl jump from a rock the first time. There was the night of Tiramisú. There was the funeral of my phone case. There was the first night meeting Cati. There were the infinite talks at our cocktail bar. There were the many mornings, each individually more important than the sum of them together, in which her eyes did not have the capacity to fully open yet, still with most of her body sleeping, making the effort to sit up in the bed, look at me, tell me I look very handsome, kiss me and wave me goodbye in the morning. There is that every time when I look at her picture off our first wedding together, in her tight blue dress, with her elegant long arms, that black hair perfectly camouflaged in the night sky. There was that wedding night, Mediterranean night, holy night, filled with moments of understanding that this woman will make friends anywhere. There was that time where I spend the night telling her all that is wrong with me, and far from leaving, she seemed to like me more. There was that time when she played into my nerdiness, and insisted we go to the Football shirts museum we randomly found, fulfilling the dream of every football fan. There was the first time she told me she had something to tell me. There was that time she first tried Michelada, did not like it, and tried a second time with even more curiosity. There was that time when she showed me her current playlist. There was that time when I looked back, and realized she had never yelled at me, not once. There was the night you kept looking at the flowers and gave me the happiest look every time.

My love. Somehow, I can’t think of any one moment. But I can’t stop thinking of the many one moments. I have not fallen in love with you once. I was always in love with you, I just didn’t know it. That’s actually not true, I knew. I just hadn’t met you yet. And then I hadn’t listened you talk yet. I hand’t seen you move. I hadn’t seen you with my mother. I hand’t seen with my father. I hadn’t seen you with my people. I hadn’t seen you with other people. I hadn’t seen you sleep. I hadn’t felt you. I hadn’t felt your touch. I hadn’t laughed with you. I hand’t cooked with you. I hadn’t waked up at your side. I hadn’t looked into your eyes. I hand’t danced with you. I hadn’t kissed you. I hadn’t seen you cry. I hand’t travelled with you. I hadn’t celebrated with you. I hadn’t shared with you.

And then I had. And since then I have been more me. I have found more of myself, in you. You were always home, I just had to find you.