This text was written in Buenos Aires, Argentina, October 8th 2019. I was back at home after my last Irish time as a short-term visa holder, and I was awaiting the news of my European citizenship process, the one thing that would allow me to really, for the first time, live in Ireland.
If there is anything I’m sure I was made for, it is you. If I was born to love just one thing in the world, it is you. If there is only one part of my life I cannot do without, it is you.
My love for what you are is the purest thing I possess. And you’ve returned it a thousand-fold. You shaped, challenged and inspired me like nobody and nothing else has before. Nothing has lifted me to such heights and drowned me so deeply. No gift, bounty or elixir I’ve ever found can come close to the life-giving magic I’ve found in you, overwhelming my senses and making me forget, briefly, about my self-centered Self.
I’ve often wondered why was I born so far from your hills and ancient trees. Why did I have to go through so much to find you, and to know that I wanted from then on nothing but to become yours. And yet, how could’ve the like of us come together as we did without such exasperating troubles and tribulations? How could I have fallen for you so, had I known you forever? All the times I’ve been far from you, missing you so bad it felt like my insides where on fire… anything which inspires such passions can only be a True thing. Something worth pursuing. It had to be hard. I see that now.
And nobody really knows the depths to which we’ve intertwined, what we have. I never really expected anyone to understand it. They tell me to be patient, to relax, and I so eager to see you again that I can’t even breathe properly. Drowning in the kind of longing that turns off the stars and blots out the Sun.
So tonight I think of your people and your contradictions, your loudness and silences, your greens and your reds. I allow myself to feel the warmth of our impending reunion, at the end of the Harvest when the world dies and goes silent, to begin a new life cuddled safely in the Darkness of your womb.
I am not as good at anything else as I am a Lover of you. And every single part of me demands that I do so.
I miss you, Ireland, like the one who has tasted true love and knows deep down that once you’ve found what your Heart beats for, any day apart from it is meaningless in a thousand bittersweet invisible ways.
See you soon.