Him…

There he is, as I write this blog post, hanging around my Facebook Chat; liking other people’s photos, commenting on their relationship updates and posting unexplainable Facebook Statuses that might or might not be directed to me.

He is young and soulful; with a body of a Greek God and the mind of a 12-year-old child; playful as they come, exploring his life with its ups and downs; enjoying it to the extreme; while I sit there; gazing at his Facebook photos and remembering the time I spent with him in Beirut couple of months ago.

Every photo I have of him is either with a sunglasses on or with his eyes closed; you see, he has these magically beautiful blue eyes that can’t stand camera flash; he closes them scarily when I point the camera towards him; then apologizes with a soft kiss on my lips.

I met him in a gay pool party; the last pool party I attended this summer; I remember that we sat next to each other; as he is a friend of my best friend in Beirut; and he asked me to keep an eye on his towel while he jumps to the pool. As he takes off his t-shirt; I can’t help but let my eyes wonder around that beautiful body of his; sweet darkened skin that revolves around some tiny muscles; nothing major or extra pumped; just the right size of muscles; I was intoxicated by his beauty as he walks around; talks to friends and laughs.

Basel; my best friend in Beirut, tells me that I’m “not his type” with a smile; pointing out that he likes people that are either less manly than me; or who are uber manly and muscle monsters. I wanted to retract my eyes away from him; tried to strike a conversation with some hot dude with perfectly tuned six packs; or take advantage of the black eyed, totally drunk dude hitting on me since the early noon. Yet, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on my blue-eyed boy.

Kay; another best friend in my mother’s city, tells me that he is “not that smart” and that he is “too simple and uncharismatic”. I find that to be false; as he seems to me to be a simple man with no back stories; no drama; just a joyful ride of love that might last for a while and take me my mind off the real bad year I’m experiencing lately.

He and I started talking; I remember asking him questions about his life; feeling his pulse as he gets closer to me while we sit on the pool. He asks me about Syria; bloody bloody Syria; and I answer him gracefully. He starts to get drunk; as the day goes on; and I get drunk on his beautiful eyes and soft voice. He doesn’t really talk much; but I like it to an extreme I couldn’t understand.

Two hours later; and we’re still talking; this time; he is looking directly in my eyes; I was gazing at the sea hidden in there; forgetting about the sea behind him that we could see from the rooftop pool the gay party was on; we suddenly stopped talking; and we started to make out.

We swam together; played together; sat on the side of the pool and started making out together again; two straight dudes tried to bother us; but Lobnan; a diva-like boy I got to know in that party; started shouting at them: “Let us love each other today; let these two boys kiss; today we kiss; and tomorrow we think of the future.” This bohemian atmosphere ruled me for the day; suddenly; I’m in the showers; and He is with me; we got naked; and I pushed him against the wall; kissing him passionately and touching his body all over; he held my hands; but I pushed his against the wall; locking him between my body and the wall; I wanted to take him; I wanted to abduct him away from Lebanon and keep him forever in my house. I looked deep in his eyes then drowned into another kiss that lasted for a while. I turned him around and I kissed his beautiful back; held him between my arms; and smiled; a satisfied smile that I didn’t enjoy for a while.

An hour later; we were sitting on the floor of the shower; naked; looking at each other; and enjoying the heat we created in the place. “Are you still alive?” he asks me, and I laugh loudly until he puts his hand on my mouth softly; asking me to lower my voice; I kiss his fingers and pull his head to rest it on my chest.

Three months passed; we talked for hours about the possibility of being together; but never managed to find a solution; I come to Beirut once a month utmost; and he never visits Damascus. Then, I met my boyfriend; who has a story of his own, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him.

He asked me this morning on Facebook Chat; “When are you coming back to Beirut? I miss you a lot!” I typed there “I miss you too,” but I never sent it.