On disappointment

     It didn’t hurt to lose a lover. No big deal. There will always be men,
who can hurt us, but those, ready to comfort us, will always be out
there too.
     It was loosing a friend that was hard for me. One of the best. The
friend, who always has time for you. The friend you could text in the
middle of the night and be sure: he will definitely call you in the
morning. The friend, who goes through the most important events of
your life with you. The friend who takes you as you are.
     We could tell each other everything. And we did. From the very start,
sincerity and openness were a must of our communication. Unlike
many other couples, we were never hindered by freedom and honesty.
     And now, five years after, when it seemed like nothing could change
any more, everything did. There appeared something in us, that started
to cause anxiety and that had never been there before. Jealousy. And
that is what corrodes even the strongest attachment.
     The moment I realised I was jealous, I got sick of my own self. And
that sickness was stronger than anything I had ever felt for him. We
slided down to the level of average people and that was the beginning
of the end of our love.
     Still, it was not jealousy that destroyed that mix of tenderness, passion,
friendship, desire and inspiration, which we had between us, and which
society usually pins down as a “love affair”. Though reasons for
jealousy there were. During all these years. For the both of us (or, his
reasons were much more numerous!). But it was not jealousy. I knew
that, but for me, nobody touched his heart.
     And it was not even boredom. For, despite all our intimacy, we were
never intimate enough to get bored with each other. Besides, can you
really get bored with a person you love with every nucleus of your
every cell?
     No, my love was destroyed by something else. By the feeling I had,
when I realised what a primitive, limited, narrow-minded creature he
had traded me for. The one, fit for nothing but cooking, running the
household, giving birth and praying to Allah. That was a disappointment.
     Both Dima and Max, despite all their faults, chose the girls who were
striking, smart, interesting. - The ones who could be a match for any
man. Being outdone by such girls is not offensive and is even honorable in a way.
     But I didn’t care. Deep in my heart I wasn’t bothered by either those or
any other dimas and maxes of my life. They didn’t love me. But you
did… And it’s for that reason next time you hold me is going to be the
last. My feelings have been destroyed by disappointment.