Photo via: Celeste Ortiz
We met on a film set.
He was the writer and director. I was a simple PA - Production Assistant - the lowest title in a film-production.
I was only on the set for two days.
The first day I was there, I was just so happy to be there, because I wasn't really supposed to be. I was there simply by coincidence. I had met a guy from the film crew on the train, he sat next to me, and I noticed he was holding a script. I asked him about it, and he told me about the film they were shooting and gave me a card. I got in contact with them, and since I had studied film for a year, I was invited to join the crew the last two days on the set. So I did.
The second day, I had got to thinking about him. There was something about him that wasn't just a director's aura, something pulling me towards him like a magnet. I particularly remember one moment. Small, and perhaps insignificant. I was watching the crew put together everything they needed for the next scene. This director, let's call him Tom, was sitting in a car, looking out the window. We made eye-contact, and he winked at me, then immediately looked away. It was as if he had sent a small electric shock through my entire body. I don't know what it was, but it was something.
The whole second day, we sent flirtatious texts to one another, and I was wondering if he was like this, or if he felt something between us as well. I was convinced it was something else the last night of the shooting. I had left the set early to catch my last train home, and he sent me a picture of two glasses of red wine on a candle-lit table, along with the words "you're missing out on some sexy lighting".
The shooting of the film was over after that, and I thought I might never see him again. That was until I got an invitation to the wrap-party. I got there a bit too early. He got there an hour late. No one knew where he was. I texted him: "I bet I've finished my beer before you get here", hoping to get an answer including when he'd be there. All I got was "I think you're right". So I waited. And then, as I sat talking to the guy responsible for the lighting, he walked in, and everyone cheered and applauded. He shook everyone's hand, smiled, talked to almost everyone, making his way across the room - where I was sitting. I began to raise my glass towards him, as a way of saying "congratulations!" and "I didn't finish my beer!", but he didn't even look at me. Not a glance. I felt immensely rejected.
He sat down a few chairs from me, and began eating. I continued talking to the people surrounding me, acting like everything was fine, as if I was having the time of my life. After a few minutes, I stood up and left for the bathroom. On my way there, I got a text from him. "I love that sweater". That was all it took. He was forgiven.
As I got back, a woman I hadn't seen on the set had taken the chair opposite me. I introduced myself and asked politely why I hadn't seen her before. She said "oh, hi, I wasn't on the set, I'm Tom's wife. Nice to meet you". I wrapped up the conversation, made an excuse to leave, and ran for the toilet. My heart was pounding like hell. Why wasn't he wearing a wedding ring? Why was he flirting with me? As a test, I sent him a text. "So when are we hooking up?". It could be seen as a joke, if he wasn't serious about this. His reply was: "Don't tease me like that, love. I'd so call your bluff". Drunk as I was, on beer and several shots, I replied "I'm not bluffing". I took some deep breaths, walked out of the bathroom, and there he was, standing in the corridor, separate from the rest of the bar. Secret. Out of sight. He looked me straight in the eye, and simply said:
"Kiss me."
So I did. It was so simple. So easy to ruin a marriage. It was also the best kiss of my life.
The rest of the night, we fought to get some time alone, without being obvious. It was hard. But after a couple of hours, he came up to me as I sat talking to another guy outside the bar. We went for a walk. Which really meant: we walked a bit away from the bar, found a deserted alley, and made out. We made out with me against the concrete wall, him against it, me lying on my back on the cobblestone ground... Over and over again I said "you can't do this, you're married!" and he simply answered "I know, but you're making me crazy". Once, I dared to ask him if this was the first time he cheated on his wife. He said it was.
The next morning, we said goodbye on the train station, after a very loaded moment in a café - just the two of us. He kissed me and walked away. And we both wanted that to be the end of it. The problem was, neither of us could leave it at that.
We got in touch again, and the next time we met we decided to be stupid. We had sex. And we both realized that this wasn't just a physical thing. The more we talked, the more we fell for one another.
I felt the need to break it off before it was too late.
He broke down crying, then bought a one way-ticket to Gdansk.
I've met the love of my life.
He is perfect in every single way.
The problem is, he's also someone else's love of their life.
Perfect for somebody else.
He can never be mine.
Ever.
"And love,
love will tear us apart,
again."
He was the writer and director. I was a simple PA - Production Assistant - the lowest title in a film-production.
I was only on the set for two days.
The first day I was there, I was just so happy to be there, because I wasn't really supposed to be. I was there simply by coincidence. I had met a guy from the film crew on the train, he sat next to me, and I noticed he was holding a script. I asked him about it, and he told me about the film they were shooting and gave me a card. I got in contact with them, and since I had studied film for a year, I was invited to join the crew the last two days on the set. So I did.
The second day, I had got to thinking about him. There was something about him that wasn't just a director's aura, something pulling me towards him like a magnet. I particularly remember one moment. Small, and perhaps insignificant. I was watching the crew put together everything they needed for the next scene. This director, let's call him Tom, was sitting in a car, looking out the window. We made eye-contact, and he winked at me, then immediately looked away. It was as if he had sent a small electric shock through my entire body. I don't know what it was, but it was something.
The whole second day, we sent flirtatious texts to one another, and I was wondering if he was like this, or if he felt something between us as well. I was convinced it was something else the last night of the shooting. I had left the set early to catch my last train home, and he sent me a picture of two glasses of red wine on a candle-lit table, along with the words "you're missing out on some sexy lighting".
The shooting of the film was over after that, and I thought I might never see him again. That was until I got an invitation to the wrap-party. I got there a bit too early. He got there an hour late. No one knew where he was. I texted him: "I bet I've finished my beer before you get here", hoping to get an answer including when he'd be there. All I got was "I think you're right". So I waited. And then, as I sat talking to the guy responsible for the lighting, he walked in, and everyone cheered and applauded. He shook everyone's hand, smiled, talked to almost everyone, making his way across the room - where I was sitting. I began to raise my glass towards him, as a way of saying "congratulations!" and "I didn't finish my beer!", but he didn't even look at me. Not a glance. I felt immensely rejected.
He sat down a few chairs from me, and began eating. I continued talking to the people surrounding me, acting like everything was fine, as if I was having the time of my life. After a few minutes, I stood up and left for the bathroom. On my way there, I got a text from him. "I love that sweater". That was all it took. He was forgiven.
As I got back, a woman I hadn't seen on the set had taken the chair opposite me. I introduced myself and asked politely why I hadn't seen her before. She said "oh, hi, I wasn't on the set, I'm Tom's wife. Nice to meet you". I wrapped up the conversation, made an excuse to leave, and ran for the toilet. My heart was pounding like hell. Why wasn't he wearing a wedding ring? Why was he flirting with me? As a test, I sent him a text. "So when are we hooking up?". It could be seen as a joke, if he wasn't serious about this. His reply was: "Don't tease me like that, love. I'd so call your bluff". Drunk as I was, on beer and several shots, I replied "I'm not bluffing". I took some deep breaths, walked out of the bathroom, and there he was, standing in the corridor, separate from the rest of the bar. Secret. Out of sight. He looked me straight in the eye, and simply said:
"Kiss me."
So I did. It was so simple. So easy to ruin a marriage. It was also the best kiss of my life.
The rest of the night, we fought to get some time alone, without being obvious. It was hard. But after a couple of hours, he came up to me as I sat talking to another guy outside the bar. We went for a walk. Which really meant: we walked a bit away from the bar, found a deserted alley, and made out. We made out with me against the concrete wall, him against it, me lying on my back on the cobblestone ground... Over and over again I said "you can't do this, you're married!" and he simply answered "I know, but you're making me crazy". Once, I dared to ask him if this was the first time he cheated on his wife. He said it was.
The next morning, we said goodbye on the train station, after a very loaded moment in a café - just the two of us. He kissed me and walked away. And we both wanted that to be the end of it. The problem was, neither of us could leave it at that.
We got in touch again, and the next time we met we decided to be stupid. We had sex. And we both realized that this wasn't just a physical thing. The more we talked, the more we fell for one another.
I felt the need to break it off before it was too late.
He broke down crying, then bought a one way-ticket to Gdansk.
I've met the love of my life.
He is perfect in every single way.
The problem is, he's also someone else's love of their life.
Perfect for somebody else.
He can never be mine.
Ever.
"And love,
love will tear us apart,
again."
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