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last night I was asked to tell my love story with my dear "Azul" ;its been only three months since he left and it keeps taking me by surprise that people worry that I still cry for him the way I do. I wish they let me. it feels good to do it, both talking about him and crying. 

I visit him on his grave from time to time to bring him flowers and talk to him. I'm the only one who's been back since he passed, which seems unfair since he was this force of nature that always drew people in and around him when he was alive. he was successful, funny, smart, compassionate, attractive (very hot, to my adoring eyes),  he had the best of both worlds to me: the experience of his age (25 years older than me), the spunk of a 16 yo (aren't all men like teenagers in a  way, anyway?). He had a great sense of humor and found the funny side in all situations, yet he would make his voice a tone deeper and talk serious business when seating in a meeting. And the most fascinating thing that got me every time: he was the son of Cuban immigrants but looked 100% withe, so it would shock people to see this man all of a sudden start talking Spanish with the classic Caribbean accent. I obviously fell for him hard. 

For 8 years I shared my life and dreams with him. I learned that, like the true force of nature that he was, he had his not so sunny days. I discovered what goes on in the mind of someone  with so many great ideas and initiatives. He had some major old demons and he knew it, and apparently I had mine. when we stated our relationship I was quite inexperienced, so it is hard for me to determine which demons were mine from the beginning, which ones were shared and which ones were created while helping him battle his.  I was a full grown adult woman 8 years ago but I was only 24 when I met him and fell for him. there were years of "courtship" that at the time he called friendship because of how platonic it was. It was not the healthiest relationship but most of the time I can see he loved me very much and God only knows how much I loved him. I constantly questioned if being together was the best thing for both, but when he was diagnosed with cancer last year and giving the terminal diagnosis this April I knew there was no other better place for me than by his side. I had to battle a couple of people but at the end, it was me holding his hand until his blue eyes stopped looking at me.

this blog is a desperate attempt to keep healing because I feel like I'm losing myself in the memories; the good and the bad ones... and sometimes I cry because I miss him and wish he was here to hug me and comfort me, and other times I cry because I am mad at him for making me believe that real love stories are supposed to be lived only on the very extreme sides of all emotions on the spectrum. The jury is still out on whether he was the best or the worst, but what's  100 % true is that there was a lot of love, and that love comes in all shapes and sizes and his came as a Rubik's cube. he was too much for death, I don't know what happened there.    



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