Because you could get it.
I wanted to be free.
I wanted to climb.
I wanted to end a relationship that wasn't satisfying me anymore.
Now I am free.
Now I can climb.
Now I've ended that relationship.
And I am not happy.
I wanted to get more climbing, and now I don't even feel like climbing (almost). I am scared, I fear that I won't fall in love again. Everything I made during the hard times with my girlfriend, seems to be mistakes. I woulda, I coulda, I shoulda. Too late.
But while I'm here at home, translating a new book, I hear the voice of the old couple living upstairs. She's vacuuming the floor, as she does every morning. She's talking with the cleaning lady that helps her clean the house, every day. Her husband is downstairs in the garage, putting the car in, then taking it out, putting things in the car, then taking them out. As he does every day. They complain about the neighbours, they complain about the parking spots, they complain about the dog, the cat, about everything. They are perfect. We, the rest of the world, are not.
But maybe we are truly alive. We suffer, but we also laugh. We find ourselves alone, but we know that at least we've really been together for some time.
One of my biggest fears, during the hard days, was to find myself and my girlfriend, in ten or twenty years, still the same; still unsatisfied, still in a crisis, but still together, used to that all. Turned insensible.
I remember the buzz I got when I fell in love. It was more a hammer in the head, to be honest.
I think that being with her without that buzz, without that hammer hitting my head, wasn't worth it. I think that splitting up was the only thing we could do to save our other relatioship, as two humans that shared a lot of love. It's something that we owed to our story, in some sense.
It hurts like hell. We fight the pain. We speak. I train. I try not to think too much about this all. It's life. I keep the fucking faith. The blind faith.