"What is love in this temporal life, if not just a distraction from the pain that doesn't seem to end."
After losing his best friend to an unexplained suicide, Mateu finds himself left to pick up the pieces with his best friend's younger brother, Fe...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Momo was a breath of fresh air. For once, I was with someone who was present. Someone who could make me laugh, someone I couldn't help smiling sheepishly at. And I'd catch him doing the same too, but I always pretended like I never realised it.
We'd do all sorts of things together. He loved going to the beach, or simply just walking by the port after work. If he had a closing shift he'd ask if he could stay over at my place for the night, and why would I ever say no? He made my existence a little less lonely. We'd go grocery shopping together, we'd run errands together, and on the days where he stayed over we'd even cook together.
Being with Momo didn't feel special or out of the ordinary – it was as if he had always been a part of my life that I never realised was missing. It felt like being with him was like the most natural thing in the world.
I have never felt as connected to anyone than I was with Momo. The boy who always had that bright sparkle in his eyes, the boy who always had something witty to say.
My apartment, naturally, got messier. But I didn't mind at all. I wasn't one to tell people what to do. At first, Momo would sometimes apologise and quickly pick up after himself. But over time, I guess when he got more comfortable – he would leave his books cluttered on my coffee table, or his clothes on the floor right outside the bathroom.
I was just glad that he still had his own place that he had to stay at on days where he had classes, since the commute will be too long. But sometimes even on days where he had classes he would show up to my door.
"What can I say?" he once said when I expressed my surprised. "I really do like spending time with you."
I could only smile at that answer. I guess I really did appreciate letting him into my life, and I could tell he felt the same way.
We were also letting each other into more important moments of our lives, and honestly It felt nice. Once I had an interview for an internship which ended late, and I remembered seeing him at the door with his bright smile. It was really intimidating, given that it was one of the more prestigious firms that every aspiring law student put high on their list of desired workplaces. I wasn't feeling so sure about myself and if I could get the internship, but seeing him coming down to surprise me melted all of my troubles away. He took me out for dinner.
"You know I haven't even gotten the job yet," I said to him as we ate.
"Doesn't mean we can't celebrate it," he replied.
It felt nice. It felt nice to be loved, to be adored. And that I felt the same way. Life was good.
Life was too good actually. Maybe it was just the feeling of freshly minted love tinting the world pink, or the deep fragrance of his cologne masking everything in the saccharine scent of vanilla.
Even when I never got replies, or replies of rejection from what seemed like dozens of firms that I applied to, life didn't feel real. I felt so detached – as if I was merely a spectator of my own life. A soulless going of the motions. Had I given up my soul for the numbing bliss of love?
