Heimweh

Heimweh: Homesickness, nostalgia

I love autumn, I really do. The smell of cold that slowly enters the city, the bursts of surprising reds, yellows, and browns that colour the landscape. The season that offers me a change, a chance to lose myself – to find myself. Or at the very least: to offer me cozy nights in.

Rotterdam felt too good, so I didn’t want to leave. Berlin felt too empty when it hugged me with its dark autumnal night. I started to doubt what it really had to offer me.

And Rotterdam? Well, Rotterdam holds you – and all that you mean to me. I was too blind to see it when I fled the city in a hurry: home is where the heart is. A funny little truth that I found that night in your eyes, in your bed, in your room.

Now I’m lost to your lingering kisses on my body, and your words are spinning around in my head. You are like a fog clouding my days as a lovely light shade of grey, turning pink at the sound of your voice. And if this was the last of it, at least we had a beautiful goodbye.

How am I this lucky?

I see your face reflecting next to mine in the shop window. We are walking, side by side, hand in hand. The city is at our feet. How is it that I’m this lucky? The city unfolds, our life is planned, and dreams are realized. I realize this is us. We are concurring the world.

Yet, at the same time the world is not at our feet. It changes, the story develops out of our control and we can only continue this way of coping that we’ve accustomed ourselves to. Mother nature doesn’t agree with us, it’s starts pouring rain, so we flee. You run too fast, and I stand still.

 

& I wake up, alone, to a sunny Berlin.

Not even brave

You make me feel sick. No. Actually, I make myself feel sick to the stomach. Somehow I put myself in a position in which all food looks bleak. Black and white, it doesn’t taste right. Life doesn’t taste right, right now. Life is just a little impossible, because of its endless possibilities.

One told me they thought me fearless. A dreamer. One to make it become reality, take it out of the set of endless possibilities and just make it the one. Yet, the word itself, being without fear, would be a sure wrong description of how I feel.

So call it wishful thinking.

Call it stupid.

Call it a self-inflicted situation.

Just not fearless. Hell, I wouldn’t even make the cut for ‘brave’ right now.