he is not the one.
is not bad, tho. but he is not.
and is almost good that he is not.

for all the possible scenarios, this is the second best.
the best of course would have been to meet again, discover we are meant to each other, fall madly in love and never tear apart, move to bangkok or to the end of the world but it wouldn't mind because we are together and nothing else matters, have babies, maybe a dog or a cat or both, perhaps buy a car, be happy. you know.

in this one, we are here together but not that much. almost ignoring each other. no bonds. i mean, we are technically sharing this moment. but he is somewhere else and probably me too. or at least i'm wondering what i'm doing here and where else should i be.

life is fine.
i found his apartment way after 9 pm, after long time wandering in the street and taking a bus, a collective pickup, a plane and a train, in that order. bangkok streets are tricky, specially if you come from another country, is dark and you have never been there before.
as the elevator opened up in the fourth floor, there he was standing with the door open, asking if i had i knocked, which of course i didn't unless it is possible to knock on a door before being in front of it.
i came in, he showed me where i could leave my backpack and told me to relax. i obeyed.

it's been just like... what? three or four days? and we live together like a couple that has been married for years.
he works in his room and i work in the living room. there is some silent companionship, eventually have a cigarette in the balcony and how do you do, cook dinner, do the dishes and talk about grocery shopping.
there is no tenderness, except when we are in the bed.
i have problems there. i have always find it difficult to sleep when i don't know that well the person i'm sleeping with and this is the case. so i'm there, eyes open staring at the darkness and there is also his back, smooth, shining almost in the twilight, and i touch him. i'm very tactile, i discovered. latin blood curse, i guess. but he is not that much.
so i touch him during the night and he ignores it. or me. he doesn't do anything, he is lost in the universe of sleep.
in the morning, the light blowing up the curtains, exactly when i'm ready to jump out of the bed, he delays me stretching his arms over me, trapping me, interlacing arms, legs, fingers, tongues. i'm weak.
and that is as tender as he can get.

oh, no, wait.
yesterday we went to sleep and woke up the next day without doing anything. yet afterwards in the morning, when i was preparing some papers to go out, he came surprisingly affectionate. touched my back, then kissed me. i responded, of course. i love that.
then when i went to his bedroom to say bye, he grabbed me again, made me sit on his lap and said: "wanna fuck?" . nope, he doesn't waste time at all. straight to the point. i had to say no and rushed out, i was late. but yes, i would have said yes, so clearly is not that i was offended or anything, but a little bit of romance doesn't hurt.

besides that, he is nice. and interesting, and smart, and has a sense of humor, and a political opinion, and lots of miles covered, and a lovely voice, and a job that consumes most of his time/mind/energy. he is not that handsome but i find him attractive. in the papers, he sounds perfect. and i like him.
he seems to have all the nice things i sensed the very first time i saw him, all of which i was hoping to get to know deeper this time.
but i'm quite sure i haven't even scratched the surface, because he is not here.
he is clearly somewhere else.

i have the impression he is not interested at all neither in me nor in anything around him which is not his job, which in this particular instance, as circumstances go, is only me. hmm.
you know, the kind of people that when you are talking to them, you have the feeling that they are not there. they are, maybe they even make a comment, but you know they are not.
for example. he has been working all day, i have been out, i come back and cook. we are having dinner, there is some how was your day exchange but as deep as the one you would have with someone you randomly meet in elevator, he turns on the tv. ten minutes of zapping to see some stupid discovery channel show about the habits of the mantis. really? i said that out loud. he nods. really? this time i repeat to myself.
how many nights will be spend together? aren't there more interesting things we can do? my ego roars: is a stupid mantis more interesting than me?
i cheat to myself: you are great, is just that he doesn't want to get involved, you know men. i listen, but i don't believe myself that much.
i look into his eyes, which is hard to do while he watches tv. there is sadness there. he looks sad. but not pathetic sadness, no. just the lonely sadness that i've seen with my own eyes, in my own eyes.

here we are, in the land were love is dead and it has been replaced by commercial transactions that involve body, sweat, hopefully emotions and money.
we are sitting at the corner of a street that is the core of this activity, sipping a beer. as we toast, he says something like: "to bkk, the land of the artificial love".
and i can't help thinking that is exactly what we are doing.