Shall I leave film school to write? He couldn’t answer.. He loved her work regardless what it was. He too a writer and an artistic soul. They watched movies together, unendingly. Discussing concepts of Rilke’ letters to a young poet, the Third Man, Godard’s editing and storytelling, Truffaut’ gentility, Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha.. they never tired of talking to each other. Every book, movie, philosophy, song that inspired them, was shared between them. They were, as if born together, in one womb. She loved to draw and he didn’t draw much. But he loved film and would one day become a director. She was an artist in his mind. Not just an artist but art itself. Passion and peace colliding within her. His muse. She saw in him all of his genius and pain. He’d learn languages and they’d teach each other. He taught himself piano and guitar as had she but she had quit. Not because she wasn’t decent but because she did not believe in herself. They were only 20. They were in love.
When he was gone, she wrote poems of him. She wrote him letters. He didn’t write her much but preferred to hear her voice. When she’d fall to prayer longing for him she’d find their souls’ connection and tap in, pleading I miss you.. Please call. the phone would ring. It was him. That’s how they were to each other. That’s how they were, for each other. Hearing each other thru heart.
Now she floated thru outer space. I don’t know where you’ve gone. Years and years among the stars, spinning thru ether. Did you forget me? Now I’m swallowed up in the universe- visible invisible – can you find me?
He had been in Guatemala for several months. When he had returned he had distanced. He started school away from her, his young blood like molten fire. He hungered for the new. New languages, new experiences, new women. But he still loved her. But she was jealous. He was casual. Wanting to own her but not wanting to be owned. She was open to him being with others as long as he’d quit them and return to her when his young lust wore out. He was taking long. He still wanted her. But she could not share. Them or me. The fights began. Even the fights were civil and kind until he let another woman’s hands touch him while she, his love, waited for him half dressed in his bedroom. She rose up and saw what he rushed from the room for.
Hot rage blinded her in pain. She could not see him as she once had. You told me you were through with these girls! He had no words. Her anger and his stupidity had left him speechless. His error and foolish egoic lust had destroyed her trust.
She left. He followed her out. She didn’t let him touch her. Her love, a fire, had turned to ice. The love had left her eyes, replaced by disgust. Fear filled him. She would not speak, would not kiss him. Got in her car and left. Sobbing the hour drive home. It would take her decades to forgive him.
It’s not that she was so unforgiving and hateful. What they had between them, their profound connection, was the stuff that fills books.. the kind of soul connect others live and die searching for. She knew it. And he was just learning.