Editor: Zsófi Bánovics
„Beautiful,
She was so beatiful, and yet
gloomy, like the withering
autumn woods, full of colour
and yet decay.
Overfilling with vibrancy, and yet
soaked in death.”
Original poem: Pilinszky János: Kalandozás a tükörben (1974)
I ended up here again.
I shouldn’t even be surprised, that once more I’m at a place that we used to visit together. Back then, of course, you created an entirely different atmosphere, nothing seemed so dark. For you, even the Sun shone. You’ve always been good at this; making even the most average little things seem extraordinary. But I try not to think of this now, because I really am over you, and what a lucky feeling it is, not to think about you. I can never gather up the courage to invite you here, but even still, I always leave a bit of space next to me just in case you show up. The chance of that happening is most likely less than zero, but I’ve gotten quite used to things turning negative when it comes to you. If you were here now, you would surely sing odes about the harmony of the yellowing leaves and the sunshine, and I would listen to it all with sparkling eyes. Not because they engross me so much, but rather because of you. I like to watch as your entire facial expression changes, when you talk about something you love so much.
Autumn is my favourite season, but not because of you, I promise. Even on my own, I used to love the smell of leaves and the quiet sound of rain hitting the windows all the same. You were exceptional. Or perhaps that’s just what I believed you to be, and you were quick to prove, that there really are no exceptions, and even if there were, they would only be good to prove the rule. Although I knew very well, even back then, that for you I too was just that particular thing. Something that you had to, something that you needed, something that you didn’t really want, but still. Just for the fun of it. Because why not. Because there was no one else, and I was around. Because you didn’t have anything else to do. Because my smile was pretty. It didn’t really capture your attention that much, but still. It was pretty. Because I was nice, but not really what you were looking for. But still, nice. And well, you needed something. Something that wasn’t me. You really could’ve told me, that every time we saw each other you were thinking of someone else. I know you don’t like to talk about yourself, but we could’ve squeezed in this much, trust me. To be fair though, I also kept a couple of things from you. But how was I supposed to announce the intuition, that if we put my soul and yours in front of a mirror, they’d be exact replicas of one another? I knew that you felt similarly about someone entirely different. One time you almost let your tongue slip, and afterwards you had such a remorsefully sad expression on your face, that I actually believed you were sorry. After that you pretended to love me again, but each one of your actions just screamed regret. That particular afternoon, I could have noticed that you were staring into the distance once too often.
There were signs even from the beginning, but I decided to wilfully ignore them. One time, I was sitting in my favourite café with a pen in my hand; I wanted to write about you, for you. My thought wandered off, as it usually happens when I’m bewitched by you. I was pondering about our future, already half-certain that it was never going to come. I didn’t even notice that I had coloured almost the entire page black. It wasn’t the pen’s fault; our future projected across the paper like midnight poison. I could’ve let you go sooner, but instead I spent a little more time with you. The suffering afterwards was going to hurt the same either way, so I decided to use up our remaining days wisely, and at least be with you for a bit longer. Of course, the fact that you were the one to show me how pretty passing can be, doesn’t mean that you’re the first one that comes to my mind about everything. I’ve already forgotten you, and anyway, how lucky it is that I no longer think about you.
Even walking along this quay now, you’re not the one I think of. The time I made you laugh at this exact bench so much that you almost fell over doesn’t even come to mind. I believe back then I already knew I loved you, but I never wanted to say it. I was afraid of the weight of the words, but of course even without saying it you already knew. Perhaps you realised before me. You’re the only one that I could make laugh so hard. And afterwards, you looked at me with such a wondering smile that it made me feel like if you really wanted to, you could love me too. But then you told me at least a hundred times that I don’t even know you, and never once stopped to think that perhaps it’s actually you who doesn’t know yourself. Maybe because that would’ve been too ironic, and you’ve never liked irony. You couldn’t understand it, but you never would’ve admitted that.
If I had suspected then, what the end was going to be, I would’ve stayed a little longer, but I didn’t want to wake up alone again, with only your empty words next to me. But this all doesn’t matter anymore, since I no longer even think about you. Finally, I’ve made it here. If I hadn’t long forgotten you, I would think about how this was the place where I first saw you. It wasn’t love at first sight. It couldn’t have been, they say it doesn’t even exist.
Those who claim this have most certainly never met you.
Now, the wind is blowing, and it’s a bit colder as well, but the “I’d die for you” feeling I have in me hasn’t changed one bit since we’ve met. Maybe that’s the issue with feelings. They stay, even when we beg them to leave. I lean across the railing. From here, it doesn’t even seem that deep anymore. I strikes me again, that I can’t live in constant fear of the next time you’ll show up in my dreams. There’s not much left to reflect on, as I swing over, my determination remains rock-solid. Now it’s all quiet, not just around me, but inside me as well. The words get stuck.
You don’t even cross my mind as I’m falling down. There’s a certain kind of exceptional beauty about it, just like you, but now, I couldn’t think of you even if I wanted to. I don’t mind, since I needed something else anyway. Something, that finally wasn’t you. I have no regrets, as everything that I ever knew and believed to be life falls apart around me.
After all, you were the one to show me how wonderful passing can be.