La Douleur Exquise

(Listen)
“Where do I begin? She’s five things: soft, wild, kind, sensual and free.
She’s soft. Even though she swears 90% of the time and often sits like a boy because she’s just not that good with etiquette, there’s always been something very fragile and delicate about her. She makes you care for her. She loves holding others as much as she loves being held. She’ll run her fingers through your hair, kiss your face with her cherry lips, she’ll hold your hand when she’s scared; buy you a drink when you’re sad…
She’s wild. I’d say this is the essence of her. You can’t take your eyes off that woman. It’s quite fascinating; forgive me if my explanation doesn’t make much sense. She’s so at ease with herself, always immersed in her own world, too occupied to check if anyone’s watching her. The minute she enters a room you feel a pull, a desire to be near her, you find yourself praying for a casualty that will lead her to dedicate at least five minutes of her life to you.
She’s kind. She’s so kind, my Blue. No matter who she talks to, she’s always polite and civil. She treats everyone with respect, even those who don’t deserve it. She’s a good listener, too, and she’ll hang on to every word that comes out of your mouth.
She’s free. She takes nobody’s shit. Long ago she promised herself that she’d be always devoted to the idea that her happiness does not depend on other people. That girl doesn’t live off anyone’s compliments or opinions; she doesn’t belong to anyone. She’ll respect your beliefs and points of view and she’ll appreciate it if you reciprocate the gesture. Please don’t judge her or tell her what to do because your comment will go on deaf ears. It doesn’t matter how close you think you are to her, she’s not yours.
She’s sensual. God, she…she screams sex. I don’t really know what it is. When having a conversation, she’ll always look you in the eye, and her pupils seem to dilate when she likes something you’ve just said. I like how she bites her lip when she’s in deep thought, caging it between her teeth and then slowly freeing it, all red and swollen. I like how there’s always a sense of curiosity in her face. She’s quite dirty minded, too, but I’ll spare you the details because she’s mine and I like the privilege.
She’s soft, wild, kind, free and sensual. My woman. She’s a fucking mermaid. She’s got this thing that all women have in some way, an indefinable something that makes you want to get on your knees to thank whoever created them. She’s so alive.”
The tape came to an end. The sudden quietness in the air brought me out of the state of dizziness and limbo that I had immersed myself in from the moment I‘d pressed play. It was then when I took notice of where I’d landed whilst listening to the tape of myself describing her: I’d crumbled to the floor in fetal position, the highest expression of vulnerability. My hands covered my face and my chest shook in silence, fingertips pressing hard to create a pain that assured I was indeed in reality, not lost in one of those fucked up nightmares I’d had since I was a kid.
Reality or not, there I was: on the floor, like the rat that I’d become. Calling her name repeatedly, even though I could barely hear myself whisper. My lips simply moved, mouthing the same syllable, louder and desperately each time.
Blue. That girl. My entire world in flesh.
My throat emitted an embarrassingly loud and painful sob at the last thought. She really was everything. And she was gone.
- Harry Styles, november, 2020