A man in his castle

A few years ago, I met a man who lived in a castle. His castle was clean and perfect. The level of organization in his castle was extra-ordinary. Every single corner in the castle was spotless. His furniture, minimal. His clothes were organized by color. His household supplies, abundant. And yet it was a sad castle. No life on the walls, no traces of people, no music. The castle seemed so empty. My visits to his castle made me uncomfortable. I was always afraid I was going to break something. There wasn't much to break, but I tiptoed around his castle. I felt like I was a spot on his marbled life. Not only I tiptoed, but I was always under the impression he wanted me to leave. It seemed like spending time together was not something that came naturally to him. So, I left.

A few years later, he came back. He left the castle and followed me to tell me he would change anything to be with me. That he had made mistakes. He said he wanted to marry me. It's all blurry now. I don't exactly remember what followed. Maybe we had an afternoon tea to discuss our relationship. We got back together a few times in the months that followed. We had a hard time communicating. But we talked and talked and talked. It seemed like two monologues. He would say something and I would not really listen and the opposite was also true.

It all started the first time we met. Then, the second time in which we actually got romantically involved. He blames me for being in love with another man. I blame him for being a non-entity. For packing his things and leaving me like I was only a weekend distraction.

It hurt me every time he excluded me from his life. One way or the other. He never saw it that way. His aloofness to my needs and his lack of communication in telling what his needs were not only hurt me, but confused me. I trusted him time and time again, thinking that he would know how to act the next time a situation presented itself. But he never did. We were not in sync. I don't blame him for that. Actually, the only thing I blame him for is for not being totally upfront with me regarding his expectations. 

Had I known that what he wanted was not in sync with what I wanted, we would have avoided so much suffering. So many tears. He claims to be in love with me. But love is a different animal altogether. At least, to me. 

I don't even know how many opportunities we both blew. I blew opportunities to pick the little dignity I had a left and get out of it. He blew the opportunity to get to know me. He still doesn't. After all this time, I still puzzle him. I still surprise him with my expectations. Everything was always a battle with him. Where to go to dance, what to eat, how to dance. Battle in a sense that every single decision took effort and a long conversation. We were not in sync, it shows. He wanted his cake and eat it too. He wanted to keep the appearances just like he had done before with his other tango girlfriends. Was he afraid of I, I wonder? What was he hiding?

I never knew what he was made of. Glass. Ice. Marble. 

I never knew how to reach him. With a hug, a kiss, a word.

Because everything I said made no sense to him, I started getting so confused. Me this wild beast, hurt and needy, could not make any sense to such a structured person. He cleaned the bottles after every drip. He took a shower after every night he was with me. He cleaned the kitchen immediately after dinner. He was his habits. And I was the puppy waiting at the store for someone to stop by and see me, pick me up and take me home.

My personality also didn't go with his. I am loud and direct. He is soft and politically correct. I am romantic and he isn't. He is a man of numbers and matters. I am a woman of feelings and dreams.

He never got me. I firmly believe that he sees me like some people in tango see me. Mean and cold. A beotch of sorts. I guess I amuse people. And I quickly realized he was doing with me, the same he did with them. Exactly the same.

Now, I lie in bed. Sick and barely breathing. I think about him and his labyrinth-like structures. His life is a like a Gaudi building. Beautiful to look at. But you get lost in it. You don't know where it starts, the windows look like big scared eyes that suck you in, the ceiling is too far high and even though you see the light entering it, it remains a mystery how to move inside of it. It is a place you never really find. The more light you see, the less you know where you stand, or where to go. The typical archetype of the dream where you try to get somewhere, but you're unable to. 

I was never good enough for him. He never knew how to interpret my expectations. Before going to Russia, he called me a couple of times asking if that was ok. I wondered why wouldn't that be ok? Don't people have plans? It's not like I am not understanding. I never prohibited anybody of doing anything to be with me. Never. But that revealed itself when he called me to say he wanted to live with me, granted he had time for his exercising routine. I saw the patterns. The cut me deep in more places that I can begin to count.

And then it hits me. Even if I tried now, to share something with him, to make him understand,  he would not. Even if I shared a song, a poem. A heart. HE would NOT get it. 

I can't reach him. My love doesn't find him. It never did. It never will. My love doesn't belong in a castle.