It hasn't been a week yet. Just half, I guess. My recovery, comparing to the past ones, has been quick. It's still hard to not think about the beautiful memories we built and what I wanted for our future. The leaves are changing colors quickly, as if taunting me with the defunct desire to spend the autumn days with her. Nevertheless, I am sleeping fine, functioning fine. I am almost as bothered by the memory of seeing the French girl leaving with her guy than with the pianist.
She called me today. Just like the email we didn't talk about "us"; we just updated each other one what we have been doing the past few days. She asked if I was going to the concert organized by the Swiss pianist tonight. She told me that a common friend of ours went to this opera that she knew I had been dying to see; she said the friend thought it was great. But she stopped short of asking if I wanted to go with her. She did invite me to a concert next Tuesday of her former professor. And she wants to exchange Russian lessons for some computer lessons that would help her with her online self-marketing tasks. I didn't know how to take all this. I wasn't jumping for joy with hopes that she might come back. Perhaps it's because I have healed enough. Perhaps it's because I remember how I did that with the India girl after she started making plans with me a few month into our breakup. How I was excited and hopeful.
It hurts me to think that she would, like all the others, want to be just friend. At the beginning it didn't feel like it. She was giggling a lot, either from nervousness of talking to me for the first time since Sunday, or missed my company that often gave her so much joy. I know I can't be her friend forever. I am not interested in it. I am healing rapidly enough to know that life wouldn't be so bad if I never see her again.
On that front there's not much more to say.
I am going to the concert organized by the Swiss pianist, as I said. She won't be playing, but I am curious what kind of music she has put together. It will be something crazy but still classical. She herself is having some trouble with her boyfriend. Last night we shared a cab together (it was more like she shared a cab with me to Queens and then paid the remaining trip back to Williamsburg, Brooklyn; she likes my company). Her boyfriend is a Mainland Chinese living in Boston and is apparently becoming more and more possessive and self-centered. They had only been dating for about half a year and they are very serious. She's always been a contrast to the other pianist; although they both had a really rough time in their own ways with men, the Swiss is seeking something serious even more now while the Russian doesn't feel she is ever going to be ready. And so the Swiss pianist is serious about this guy and they see each other every weekend. They even went to Switzerland together. When I heard her say this I thought they had been together for years. But no matter how crazy you are and how intense the relationship is, time is always a factor in getting to know someone, and tango has a way of accelerating that. So half a year later she is finding his possessiveness very troubling; she's very worried about their future. I thought again how sometimes life really is easier when you're single.
Tomorrow I will see the folks, for the first time in a while. Without kung fu I do have more time. Of course, without dating I have even more time. Last night I went dancing after having dinner with the Swiss pianist in Brooklyn Heights. I sang our way to the milonga and she, as a musician, was quite impressed. It's a lot less dramatic being with friends. I had some nice dances after practicing for an hour. I have decided that I would stop dancing once I get tired. There is no more need to struggle on for the sake of being in a milonga. That is an important turning point for me, helps me take things a little lighter.
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