*Repost from my WordPress page*
“There goes my heart beating, and you are the reason”-Calum Scott
This is a city of broken memories and those long-lasting hourglasses that children stare at, mesmerized.
It is a mirage of the hazy, rosy days and the tomb of us. Us. A word that feels so foreign in my mouth.
“Ah, perdóneme”. I mumble, bumping into a rough, navy duffle coat. The smooth r sounds of Spanish feels rusty. My tongue like an ancient machine creaking without oil, and I cannot erase the traces of American English that feels more natural to me now.
My rain boots gently step on the puddles reflecting the soft, ambient fairy lights, as if slowly crushing the countless dreams of miracles and happy endings. Splash, splash, splash. With every step, my boots are grinding and grinding my dreams into pieces. I look up. Behind the foggy curtain of rain, stands the Sagrada Familia with its history and glory. Instantly, I am taken back to the warm, sunny days of 2005. Enveloping me in an embrace, he took me on a tour of the majestic of the building. Like mellow jazz music, he smoothly whispered the age-old secrets hidden in an artwork crafted over history. The stained glass glowed red, orange, yellow, violet, cyan as he kissed me softly behind the ears. The light surrounded us like a halo, refracting, reflecting, and spotlighting on us. “I will never let you go”. A sacred promise made in a sacred place.
Now I stand, in front of Sagrada Familia, the stained glass extinguished by the depth of the night. This church towers over all of Barcelona; did it see the door slams, venom-dipped letters, and the tears on the wine-red carpet? Did it feel the ground shudder with betrayal and surrender? Or did it get fooled by the façade of his tight embraces, sickly pink bouquets of roses, and the smiles of a “sweet, affectionate boyfriend”?
I was overreacting, they said. He just had a bad temper, they said. I was not being considerate, they said. I don’t know if they are right. All I know is that the second I found myself wiping blood off my cheek, I disappeared, wheels of the suitcase getting stuck on weeds as I dragged it painfully throughout the dead of the night. Â
But the world, after all this, still tries to make my heart beat. I still see him on the taxi, legs crossed in a well-ironed suit. See him shopping for mushrooms in the striped stalls in the Farmer’s Market, good-naturedly discussing menu plans. Hear him laughing with friends at a bar. Smell his cologne from the crowded A train.
Every time I see traces of him in New York, LA, Chicago, I whip around, hands out, mouth opening before I see him flip around and... it’s not him.
Now, in this city, it is worse. For every corner, every cobblestone, a memory: his tenor voice teasing me softly. Despite unfamiliar shops and fast-paced Spanish that I cannot comprehend, Barcelona is exactly as I have remembered. 15 years on, and I still am the naĂŻve girl I was back then.
Though the Sagrada Familia is familiar from far away, up close, I see the white-blue star on the Virgin Mary tower, constructed just a few months ago. The star, so close to the sky and beyond, glitters fondly as it surveys the historical city. Then: the hazy glow blinks for a millisecond, so short that I think it was a trick of my eye. Perhaps, it was. Jetlagged and sleep-deprived, maybe it’s a sign to go to bed. But, it just might be a motherly nod for understanding, strength and remembrance. Holding this interpretation to my heart, I nod back at the Sagrada Familia, eyes never leaving its beauty.
