And I held on to one word.
Amourbox: Lovesick box (3.10.2020)
When I'm no longer there for you, then I don't want anything more. But why? This is just nature and fatality. identity, that dissolves like a mesh carpet, just because love is gone, brings out the true identity?
But, and, I recognize myself in the mirror, I feel, I am with myself. And yet I want my whole being, that I have in me, without you no more. There I would be and my being, there would be other people, but in this deep aberration of taste, in which I'm stuck, I don't want anything more, than to take those hands, who tell me, that I mean something to them. I can't give anything, nothing and nobody, because everything in me is for you. It would be the most obvious, to tear one's heart away from someone, to whom you mean nothing and who enjoy it, to get in touch with others. But paradoxical as I am, all roads are blocked for me, to get out of this blockage, solange, this love for you lives in me in this way.
I wish, she lived differently: that you left me, And for you I don't exist anymore, should make me move mountains. I'm afraid, it's all very different. Love, that you showered me with for over a year; she was the island, that connects me to the mainland. I was already floating on the open sea, before you came. And now …. Not even, that this is a classic, and that there are millions right now, who drift along in the same ship of fools, can restore me so far, to walk away with his head held high. There is only magic and magic is fatality. I didn't get a millimeter further, all of my thought processes have not changed anything in my materialism, I don't see any possibility of a change of perspective. I just wanna be inside you again, and I don't want anything else. That you might, yes very likely, Perceived ugliness in me from your perspective, ugliness, that slipped away from my self-image, torments me like waterboarding: I got ugly for you and my light went out for you. Now I never want to look in the mirror again. I am black as a woman ('Cause we can't be lovers anymore), as a human (because we didn't make it, To become friends), black is my intuition (because I mean subversiveness and that, What repulsed you from me cannot see with your eyes), To which I gave so much, black is my body, which expires (because he makes me do it, to be so close to the flesh) and black is my thinking.
It is incomprehensible, to be abandoned, And I feel the weight of time, which is given to me, not to understand this. Feeling attracted in this way to another person and not to the huge rest of the other people. It is believed, this love is something deeply individual and irrational, because it so shakes identity (especially, when she goes), but actually it is neither individual nor irrational. My current state is not wanted by me, and my body is not me either. So what is it? I don't like anything anymore, I can no longer see anything, nothing is enough and I didn't reach us- I never want to look in the mirror again, this mirror lies, every mirror lies -
Today I thought, I would have seen you with a new love, And I rushed up to you, to you in the apartment, because I wanted to see, if there is anything for me to recognize ... I fell on .... I couldn't think anymore ... my heart was racing ... I wanted to know something again .... although I know, that it doesn't work with knowledge .... you won't show me anything more about yourself and I won't learn anything from you through words ... I wanted to make a funny joke for you (like in old times), and make you laugh, because your smile with the little boys' teeth enchants everything, instead I choked down the stupid sentence, that you think is joke-like: I love you! But I didn't make it and don't know myself, what compulsion I obey, when my mouth breathes this sentence into the air even now. At worst, it's coercion for you, and this thought torments me like waterboarding. That I could force you, To endure sentences of my affection for you,(while you'd rather type on your phone or watch TV) like a stupid school child.
As I said, I wanted to tell you something funny, to make you happy with it, and because that would be a bit more attractive. But lovers in this position are stupid ... I don't have that feeling, That I'll ever stand inside of me again. If only I were your dog.
(3.0.2020)
(14.12.20)
Love-Box, Malteland
Earlier, when I last saw Malte, for the last time the brain and the veins full of red wine and beer, I said a sentence to him, always, in consciousness, that it's my last sentence for him.
In front of the coffee bar Mocha, at four at night, at Thun Castle in front of the ancient prison bars, outside by the lake, in passing: I approached him, rolled or flew, No, I did not know, how. It was sinking, in that moment, by, finished and consumed by the night, looked up from his last beer and gave me that moment of listening.
Mann, he was so full and so withdrawn! And yet I felt this space with him, this extra space. It seemed to me, as if he was listening differently, from far away; and yet I had to steal his ear, about him, Malta, secretly kissing him one last time through my last sentence.
I could have been doused with compote, when I finally got his attention on me. When Malte listened to me, then it was, as if there was the most precise silence, but at the same time his aura ensnared music. Echo gave off his laconic silence, its diabolical, sad eyes, I should have been towed away. I saw nothing more, felt nothing more, what happened outside of his aura, next to us. Was woven into his ear, in his word, into the touch of his carved arm; with Malte it was like being drawn to a magnet in slow motion.
The pace of slowness, in which I could perish.
Never again could I speak to anyone like that. Sinking into such an abyss. Others, who came after, I felt to the bottom, quick and fleeting, I felt, as far as her consciousness reached and as far as her brief touch. I threw myself on the ground in front of some. I was so young. And Malte was gone. Now I wanted to carry it within myself, wanted to be like him, his gestures, its stratifications, its trembling deep warmth, the cynicism, with whom he had cut me off, incorporate into me.
Sometimes, when someone approached me, at the end of a chaotic night, Confident and advanced in wine, ulkig, in a courtyard, with one last sentence, I did so, as if I could give the stranger this space, drink his strange intimacy. I didn't swing back, I took it up, like a kiss, no longer letting go, until I mastered it.
Then I let go and walked away, felt empty and cried for my malt. I couldn't be, could not incorporate into me, because he was someone else, not me, very easily.
Us (me and the later) I even got in the way with an unspeakable ego, of which I wish, at least I would have stolen it from Malte. I do not want to say, that I wasn't devoted or that love became a game for me, for my body it was a tremendous experience…. but I was still there and pushed into the middle, I didn't want equality anymore, (after Malte), but only give my intoxication to them and above all to me.
And sentences were often so endless…. fizzling out.
Okay, I may have seen it sometime after all. And I caught myself with one last sentence. And I'm still in that last sentence. But in contrast to Malte, which I in wine and beer, vomited each of my last sentences, and never missed an opportunity, drunk and unbounded, at night, to bind me to him, in open spaces,one last time with one last sentence … I'll probably keep that last sentence to myself this time. I will let the time pass and maybe see, what happens to a sentence, which cannot be given or taken.
Whatever this last sentence is called.
When you stop speaking the last few sentences, in time they may lose their meaning within you. Everything gets loose. And the rose ....... (I cry!)
………………………………… .. fades into an unsatisfied peace.
That is never, ever that, what I wanted.
I wanted to bring the moments back to life with my last sentences.
And the one with Malte, back then in the nights, should never end.
(28.9.2020)