Gay Borderline Land

There are places that deceive and lie to you because they make you feel safe. But when you discover that's not the case, it's already too late.

Hello, my love: I know we're divorced, but sometimes I still manage to call you "my love," even when we're on the phone. Explain that to my heart, because it hasn't listened to me in years. Many people believe that photographic memory is a gift, but for borderline individuals like me, it's a curse. In my most vulnerable moments, your image will come to me. I still feel the comfort of our armchair in Madrid. That great city with so many false promises and endless, unhealed disappointments.

I close my eyes and I can still caress your soft skin. I can still smell the scent of your favorite shampoo. I can still feel your hand stroking my hair. I hear you whisper how much you love me. The summer sunlight streams through the windows, and it's the only thing that dares to disturb our golden bubble.

That delicate bubble we opened to let in outside testimonies, confessions without sin, witnesses of time. Over the years, you and I were no longer able to close our precious golden bubble. Our Eden was corrupted by secrets and silences that slowly stabbed our love.

When we looked up, it was too late. We will never know the weight that a city as vast as Madrid carried in our tedious end. After all, we lived almost our entire relationship there. I will never discover the magnitude of the comfort these letters I write to you so often give me. After all, I somehow feel responsible for your future happiness because the mark I left on you in the past can no longer be erased. Don't hate me for trying to redeem myself.

This last pics are mine. I'm the younger guy on these pics. Just in case if somebody wants to know ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️ME⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Have you ever replayed in your mind the ironic night that brought us together? A bitter smile escapes my sad lips at the memory. You and I had mutual friends, but they didn't want to introduce us. Do you remember why? I had more than earned a very bad reputation, and you were fresh, innocent meat in this dreary city. Throughout the night, your naive intuition drew you into my arms. What a cursed spell that cursed night cast!

After our eyes met, we ended up dancing embraced in a strange bed that sheltered our fleeting nocturnal love. The next day, we didn't dare look each other in the face at breakfast, sitting with our friends who opposed our love. I kept repeating: "I'm not ready for a boyfriend." Fate played its hidden cards, and with a masterful trap, it won the poker game against me for almost 20 years. When I close my eyes, I remember you embracing me on the dance floor of that gay club that was so trendy at the time.

Looking at each other, wondering how long the butterflies would flutter in our innocent hearts. I'd pay anything to go back to that day and never return to this uncertain present. Anyway. A sweet beginning for a bitter end that would come 20 years later.

There are no guilty men here. Nor are there any innocents. Just two naive kids wishing to prolong genuine happiness forever.

I'm slowly burying you in the graveyard of my memory under the weight of my new memories without you. Deep down, we're both victims of my unhealthy melancholy, idealizing past moments that have been twisted by time.

I work every day to dilute your presence in my mind so I can grow and be happy. I've promised myself to protect myself. I've promised myself to take care of myself. And above all, I've promised myself to love myself. I deserve it.

And although I don't hold any resentment towards you, I have the right to rebuild my life, look to the horizon, and not see your shadow. Thank you for your patience.