Category Archives: Love

Who knows

Who knows?

Not me.

I have no fucking clue.

No clue at all of what the hell am I doing.

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In my mind

He lives in my mind, the pain lives here too.
Every good and bad memory, every soft touch and every harsh word.
He lives within time, still and fluid, clear and  . . . not so clear.
He makes me cry, he makes me sigh, he makes me dream.
Dreams that turn into nightmares.
He lives in my waking time, he lives in my sleep, he lives in the empty space next to me.
He is trapped in my mind and I am trapped here too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old friend

The feelings I have now are not new to me. They are not new to me in the sense that I have before experience  . . . loving someone who doesn’t love me. The pain is nothing new, the hope as futile as I know it is, is nothing new . . .
The heart ache is an old friend, but for some reason this time I cannot shake it off. I cannot shake him off. As always this once, only this once I wish  . . . I wish  . . . to be free of pain. And in the end beloved by the one I love.

As I sit here

As I sit here I think of nothing else. Nothing else at all but the one, one and only  – or is it lonely? – thought. The thought, the thought, the thought like a plague that starts small and takes you to the grave. The grave of my soul, the grave of my heart, the grave of my life to end it all. End it all at once, but not my life, but not my soul, but not my heart, but that one lonely, only plague-like thought.

The thought of thoughts, the only one. But multiplying until there is none. None other, no others, not many and not few. An image and smile and then all it’s done. Done forever, done for never, done and done and done again. A cycle that never ends. A cycle, a cycle, a bicycle that goes and goes and never gets there.

A never ending story, a never ending cycle of cycles as it repeats and repeats but is never the same and always . . . always the end. The same end, a different story but along came a spider, a story? A cycle? Again and again I go. First, I was blind, then I was naive, and now with my eyes wide open and my heart cracked and broken. For what else can one thought do if it has already taken my heart and my soul? It has taken all, has taken me and myself and my oxidized heart, in pieces and stitched up.

Stitched up heart, a stitched up soul, a stitched up life. A life made up, a life created, a life lived and now pervaded by one little lonely thought, a life so full, a life so lost and a life yet found. Found a life, found a heart, found a smile and there it is. It is a lonely, little thought that kills me slowly and gives me life. The life of hopeless romantics which I am not. The life of  . . . of those I don’t want to be, the life, the life I don’t want to live.

And yet, I live, I live beyond this lonely thought. I live as if it does not exist and I push and push until is nearly gone. Forgotten it stays until the end of the day,

My love letter

I love you as you are,

I accept you as you are.

I sit in quiet darkness, waiting for truth from your lips and warmth from your touch. But they will not come and I have to make my peace with it.

I pray to no god as I think of you and hope against all hope that you come to me without reservations and fear. But you will not come and I have to make my peace with it.

This is how I love you. Knowing you will not come but hoping that you will, knowing in my heart the truth of it all.

This is how I love you. As you are, even when you are short with me and anger comes to you. As you are, even when you’re afraid and coldness emanates from you.

I love you. Because you are funny, or rather you think you are. Because you are sweet and kind. Because you are intelligent and work hard. Because you are a good man.

Because you speak Spanish to me and because you text me in German.

Because you get mad at me and you cook me spaghetti.

Because you build a wall and don’t let me in.

Because you kiss me softly and you flirt.

Because you love your cat and most of all . . .

I love you because you’re imperfect as I am, and . . .

I love and I couldn’t say why.