See this as a Flower

Everything is an ambivalent thought.
I crave the night. When people are quiet.
Thoughts can flow.
A river. Ein Wirbel.
How do we choose our memories?
A drawer for painful ones, at the bottom.
One filled with the indifferent – time will tell wether they’ll feel significant at last.
Our own significance, the people we loved, the knowledge we felt.
Castle of thoughts, rooms for everything that’s lost.

I can still picture the angle, how he was holding his hand when thinking,
in the middle of the air, weighing it, deciding how much worth a thought had.
I can feel this weight in my own empty hand.
Sensual significance.
How he stood there. The construct of his presence was Haltung.
Too fragile for the torment, too stubborn to let go.
Until the day came and a sharp line was painted.

Surrounded by vacuum people.
Whole relationships went missing from my memories.
Tiny moments, Nebensächlichkeiten, stayed.
It is the dream of awakening glueing together the fragments.

Oh winter, how I need your time.
Your countless hours without light, that pour concrete on the shallow.
The neverending thought of night, that jumps without rules, connects without sense, 
brings order through chaos.

This weight in his hand, in mine.
I wonder wether he can feel it on his nightly pillow.

See this as a flower.

Privacy Settings
We use cookies to enhance your experience while using our website. If you are using our Services via a browser you can restrict, block or remove cookies through your web browser settings. We also use content and scripts from third parties that may use tracking technologies. You can selectively provide your consent below to allow such third party embeds. For complete information about the cookies we use, data we collect and how we process them, please check our Privacy Policy
Consent to display content from Youtube
Consent to display content from Vimeo
Google Maps
Consent to display content from Google