Welcome to the third piece of the explicitly raw and honest series of “Damn It, Isco”.

This afternoon was the first time that I have felt “content” in the past couple of days. It was good to see Real Madrid back in the field, training, with Isco among the galacticos of the star-studded squad. It felt good to see him, even after finding out about…all that. He still hasn’t gotten back on Twitter just yet, although his U-21 and now R.M. teammates-Morata and Carvajal-have been tweeting about him and their inside jokes. It was good to see that he was welcomed and the bromance between these early twenty-something-year-old guys have started. The team definitely has a different “feel” under the new coach. The air is light; it’s good to see that everyone can breath under this optimistic time after the dark days under Mourinho.

Anyway, like I said, it still warms my heart to see Isco. After all the shady, idiotic things (i.e. bringing the very new girlfriend to the most important event in his career and taking a “family” picture with her standing between him and his mom), it still delights me to see that dolly face and its goofy, boyish smile. Sad, very sad, but very true.

Sometimes you can’t help that you like someone so much that you will let them do whatever the heck they want to. After all of the things that they have done, you’d still like them. It’s stupid and pathetic, but it can’t be helped. To me, this-the endless ability to forgive-seems like a very motherly act… I must sound unusually  stupid right now. Whatever.

The best way to say that you love someone is to accept the way they are, let them be themself, let them do whatever they wish to do that will make them happy. I guess I’ve come to the conclusion: if he’s happy, I’m happy.

Yes, if he’s happy, then so am I. But I sure don’t look at him with the same light anymore. The magic’s gone. Now it’s like looking at a rotten fish that’s just isn’t edible anymore. A useless fish, true, but still the best-looking one out there, unfortunately.

This is probably is a rare occurrence of me getting in touch with reality for the first time in the past few days. He lives his life, I live mine. He doesn’t know of my existence, nor does he care. But I still find joy whenever I hear his name, read his news, or see his face. He will continue to be my inspiration to work hard and keep improving myself. He has his training to do, I have mine; except mine is nowhere near noticeable nor glorious. Things aren’t simple and straightforward in my case; I won’t get a trophy for my accomplishments, but that is fine. I just need to keep going, and going, and going. It’s nice to have something to inspire you during this long, tedious, and tiresome journey… I will also shamelessly admit that he keeps my hope alive-the hope of finding someone that I would be attracted to…and I might find the likes of him…in the deep south of #Spain. Maybe. Oh, and here I go on daydreaming again. Sigh…that was a happy sigh for a daydreamer. The biggest sigh from the biggest daydreamer, indeed.

 

~Brisa

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