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"The magic is gone", you said. You had smoked the whole day, in one of Amsterdam's cofeeshops. You said goodbye to her just half an hour before. Minutes before, we said goodbye to the Egyptions, together we passed through the security control, we went to the taxfree shop talking about anything but us. And then we were there, under the sign. One arrow pointing to Gothenburg, the other pointing to Warsaw. There, we could no longer pretend, as we have the past days...
I suddenly remembered our goodbye in Amman. I had hugged you and you were so thin (now you are a bit bigger), you had a thick, violet, jumper on, and you had brought me a Snickers from the store. I remember your sad eyes, and the nickname you gave me - Montana. I did not know what I felt but I was sure you felt more. I cried on the taxi to the airport, and I kept telling Imke, the GI institut representative, how cool it was that I would meet someone like you there and that you had the same name as my first love.
I saved the snickers and ate it at the Charles de Gaulle airport. Afterwards, I did not throw away the paper.
I remembered arriving in Amsterdam two weeks earlier. I was worried, I knew that a year of not seeing eachother has distorted the images, I knew you expected too much from me, I knew I did not feel the same but did not want to lose you. I saw you through the glass wall and you started waving like a kid. We hugged, again, your smell in my nostrils. It was strange, you kept talking and talking about Damascus, about Syria, about Unicef, about the swine flu, about Palestinian children, about being a religious freelancer, about being a free bird... We almost forgot to get of the train in Amsterdam.
But it could not be avoided. The issue of Us. Few days later, we had The talk of all talks. It was a rainy day, we were on our way to a party with the participants of our workshop, you were next to me, for the last time, really next to me.
Afterwards, you started to be quiet. You started to move away. You started to avoid me. Some days we joked, but it was there, between us, The talk - the invisible line that had defined what should never be defined. I wanted to be honest, but this was not honesty. I was afraid. We stopped talking. You met her, this lovely, intelligent, playful American girl. And I knew I lost you. A year of fantasies, talks, dreams, plans, reduced to akwardness. It hurt me to hear your laugh across the room, see you talking to people, knowing that you exist. It hurt me, even if I thought I was prepared.
"The magic is gone", you sad under the arrows dividing us. "It happens, we have to survive the crisis". I felt a punch in my stomach. This was not what I wanted to hear.
"Let's go buy a coke", you said.
We went. I followed you to your gate. We sat down as the others were boarding. We kept talking about us, about my relationship, about how you have changed in Damascus, about your family, about my ideas of you. But nobody actually said anything. Nothing was said. We hugged one last time.
"Here, it is yours", you said and gave me the coke.
I waved and blew you a kiss. You waved back. No kiss.
I sat in the lounge area of Schiphol airport for a half an hour until I finally finished the coke. I packed the bottle in my backpack.
Was this love?, I thought as I was walking to my gate. On the plane, I ordered a bottle of wine and finished it. And then I slept. Forever.
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