I can’t stop thinking about that dream. I can’t stop thinking about how weird it is that after so many years I had a dream about him.
It’s been almost 9 years, we were literally two kids walking their first steps into adulthood. Looking back, it was probably one of the sweetest relationships I’ve ever had. However, I’ve never really thought about it, nor have I ever really missed him.
But today, after I randomly dreamed about him, all those memories that were almost erased from my mind came back through bittersweet flashbacks, right in front of my eyes.
The text messages to tell me he had arrived and was waiting for me downstairs outside the front door of my building in Milan’s corso Buenos Aires, where I had moved literally days before, in his BMW; the surprise visits, the late nights, that fantastic dinner at Nobu, the cuddles, that night he surprised me showing up to the club where I was partying with my friends, despite he hated clubs; the coffees in the morning. The kisses.
I honestly don’t know what’s going on. I’ve lived relationships that were way more important and have left and given me so much more.
But maybe I’m just realising that those little things I experienced during those 3/4 months are worth more than other things I thought to be the best I ever had.
Or maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve experienced anything that would give me those same beautiful feelings.
All I know is that all of a sudden I am finding myself missing someone I literally haven’t thought about for 8 years, and considering myself a psycho for doing so.
And after all these years in which I’ve become one of the most cynical people in the world, I felt the need to write down my feelings on this blog. God if I missed it.
I’ve been thinking about that dream the whole day. About how sweet, exciting and spontaneous those days were. About the fact that I would give all I have to go back and relive everything again, from 2010 onwards.
I probably had the best youth I could have possibly hoped for. Friends, lovers, fresh summer nights, warm winter nights…
I am 27 fucking year old – the magic can’t be over yet.