Der schwer gefasste Entschluss.
Es muss sein.
After seven years, you're still appearing in my dreams. Confusing, sometimes unsettling, but never unwelcome.
It's gone like this for the past four nights- your appearances are as transparent as smoke but more weighty than anything I've ever held in my mind. I don't know what to say or do when I wake with a start in the middle of the night, arms and legs twisted in blankets, hair falling around my face in loose tangles as I sit up in bed and look around to see if you're there with me.
You never are. You haven't been in three years. No matter how much I apologize, I'll never be able to change that.
Es muss sein.
We're standing ouside a grey building that's surrounded by a large, disturbingly well-manicured lawn. It is summer. There is a sterile, ordered, and highly professional feeling to the area. You've come to visit me, and my mother is there with me too. You're carrying something large and heavy, the color of weighty office envelopes, and it covers most of your forearms and upper body. I don't know what it is, but you drop it and quickly embrace me when you see me. I see your face and am filled with an inexorable weight, a feeling of infinity. I feel childish and try to hide myself somewhere, a place that I can't even grasp.
Sometimes I wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me when suddenly, out of nowhere during my day, I will remember you. Sometimes I remember times in our lives when we were closer, things that we shared. I remember the exact way your eyes would catch mine from across the room, knowing a secret, and smiling.
I'm sitting at the piano whose lid has been removed and is sitting in the corner of the stage, broken and unused. You are watching me intently from five seats away in the otherwise-abandoned hall. The stage is well polished and reflects the lights and piano almost perfectly. Even so, there is a feeling of abandonment to the place, as if it had been long forgotten. I have a feeling that we've been sharing small talk and avoiding deep issues, I know from the calm and knowing smile that you have. I'm playing something that I wrote for you, as I've been doing for years. "I just haven't had the chance to tell you." I play again, fumbling a few notes. "I get you. This is you."
I try to hold on to so much that we shared, but my memory isn't as strong as I would like it to be. Sometimes I'll have a fleeting glimpse of something you once told me or shared, and it will be gone as quickly as it appeared, retreating into the back of my mind to rest until it is called upon again. I wish that I could save those moments and have them whenever I wished, but no matter how much I wish, I can't.
Es muss sein.
After seven years, you're still appearing in my dreams. Confusing, sometimes unsettling, but never unwelcome.
It's gone like this for the past four nights- your appearances are as transparent as smoke but more weighty than anything I've ever held in my mind. I don't know what to say or do when I wake with a start in the middle of the night, arms and legs twisted in blankets, hair falling around my face in loose tangles as I sit up in bed and look around to see if you're there with me.
You never are. You haven't been in three years. No matter how much I apologize, I'll never be able to change that.
Es muss sein.
We're standing ouside a grey building that's surrounded by a large, disturbingly well-manicured lawn. It is summer. There is a sterile, ordered, and highly professional feeling to the area. You've come to visit me, and my mother is there with me too. You're carrying something large and heavy, the color of weighty office envelopes, and it covers most of your forearms and upper body. I don't know what it is, but you drop it and quickly embrace me when you see me. I see your face and am filled with an inexorable weight, a feeling of infinity. I feel childish and try to hide myself somewhere, a place that I can't even grasp.
Sometimes I wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me when suddenly, out of nowhere during my day, I will remember you. Sometimes I remember times in our lives when we were closer, things that we shared. I remember the exact way your eyes would catch mine from across the room, knowing a secret, and smiling.
I'm sitting at the piano whose lid has been removed and is sitting in the corner of the stage, broken and unused. You are watching me intently from five seats away in the otherwise-abandoned hall. The stage is well polished and reflects the lights and piano almost perfectly. Even so, there is a feeling of abandonment to the place, as if it had been long forgotten. I have a feeling that we've been sharing small talk and avoiding deep issues, I know from the calm and knowing smile that you have. I'm playing something that I wrote for you, as I've been doing for years. "I just haven't had the chance to tell you." I play again, fumbling a few notes. "I get you. This is you."
I try to hold on to so much that we shared, but my memory isn't as strong as I would like it to be. Sometimes I'll have a fleeting glimpse of something you once told me or shared, and it will be gone as quickly as it appeared, retreating into the back of my mind to rest until it is called upon again. I wish that I could save those moments and have them whenever I wished, but no matter how much I wish, I can't.
Es muss sein.