confession london


I held on to the four wheeler, watching the fields fly by, going faster and faster. They warned me. Be careful, wear a helmet, people have accidents. I pushed down the gas while I was going faster over ditches and dirt roads. I didn't care. I felt free. For the first time in my life I was so happy I would've not cared to die.

Staring into my computer, watching the world outside the window and asking me what happened. How did I get here. How did I leave the feeling of freedom and happiness for sitting here. What went wrong.

I wanted a home. Safety. Security. I didn't find any of it. I settled down a bit. I fitted into the world a bit more. I gave in a bit more

I GOT QUIETER. SMALLER. I got afraid. I acted more out of fear than fire. That's how I can explain it. Fire burned out and left ashes in which I'm sitting now. Quiet.

And when you're going to ask me again to be quiet I don't know what to say. I want to scream. Scream and scream. Run away. Be everything but quiet.
And when you tell me I need to grow up more I want to laugh. Laugh into your face. I grew up too hard and long ago. Being soft is being me. Talking and laughing and loving is being me.
And when you don't understand I want to tell you that being me isn't a weakness. Isn't a sign of immaturity. Doesn't mean I need to change.

I WANT TO BE LOUDER. TALLER. I want to dance in the rain, paint my skin, swim in the ocean, run horses, laugh and not care. I want to put trust into myself and that the lord will guide me the right way. I want to be everything I am meant to be and even more.

No I don't want to die anytime soon. But I believe in living a life where every day's good enough to be your last one.
19.7.18 20:49


And I wonder. Wonder where the sun is and if I will ever feel it on my skin again. Wonder. If I will ever break the surface again. Wonder. If I ever stop feeling like I'm drowning.

You know the feeling. The feeling when a wave crashes over you, the water surrounding you, pushing you down, for one second, two, three. Before you breathless and wide eyed break to the surface again, taking in the salty air, blinking the water from your wet lashes, blinded by the bright sun, looking around, swimming between moving waves, looking out if there will be another big one, crushing you again.

You know the feeling. I know you do. We all know the feeling when we know our story isn't done yet. When we know something will happen again. It is just a matter when. And maybe how bad. If you're in the open ocean, no land in sight, if you're swimming weakly, barely keeping your head over water. You know it is you a matter when. And maybe how bad. It is just a matter when the next wave will push you, push you harder and deeper. It is just a matter when you will drown. It is just a matter when. And maybe how bad.

You know the feeling. When you look in the mirror and your eyes don't feel like your own. When you miss that spark that you never wanted to lose. That spark that keeps you swimming.

And you know why. You know you're tired of searching for land, you're tired of pushing yourself up every time it takes you under water. You're tired of wiping away tears that wash away a piece of your strength.

You know the feeling. The feeling when a wave crashes over you, the water surrounding you, pushing you down for one second, two, three. Four. Five. Ten. Twenty.
The feeling of drowning. Of giving up. Of losing the strength to swim. To talk. To live that spark in those blue eyes.

And I wonder. If this is how it will be. If I will drown mouth shut, eyes shut, nodding in the slow rhythm of the waves around me, floating with the least resistance until the water will take my last blink. And I wonder. If I will ever stop feeling like I'm drowning.
26.6.18 20:27

Story about hope.

I ran out of words, I ran out of things to say.
I ran out of thoughts, but never out of hope. Hope, that little voice inside of me that wants to believe in that image of a happy ending that one day will destroy me completely. I'm basically begging for it.
I basically asked you to destroy me.
I asked you to leave me crying on your bathroom floor.
I asked you to take my heart and throw it away.

I asked you to take me, to take everything and waste it. And when you came back, I gave you a second try. And a third. I basically asked for it. I asked for it, you might say.

This little voice of hope told me that you're a better person than you are. That little voice of hope wanted to believe every word you said. That little voice.

So when I told you to man up and stay true to your word, it was that little voice of hope speaking. It was crying out loud. It wanted to hope. It wanted you to be true.
But you are not.

I was walking fast beside you, trying to keep the speed. Grass almost knee high, the sun on my face. I wanted to talk when you stopped. Looked at me. Told me that it didn't mean anything. That I didn't mean anything. That you would never love me. That I didn't even want to be in your heart.
It was when it all broke down. When you ripped this little voice of hope out of me. You yelled it. Loud and clearly. The sun blinded my tears when you told me I should leave. The same day. I should leave right now.

It took me months to realize that I should have left.
That I basically asked you to destroy me. Again and again. With every chance I gave you, every time you came back. And you came back, talking sweet, smiling. Just to do it again.

I basically asked for it.
4.9.16 22:20


She said, he taught her how to laugh, to love unconditionally and how to get up when you fall. She said he taught her how to take naps in her lunch break and how to be the most loyal person she knew. She said she wants her husband one day to be such a great dad as hers was.

And while I think what to write in my fathers day card, I want to write the same things. I want to tell him, how much I love him. I want to tell him how much I looked up to him when I was six years old and he was my hero. How much I enjoyed dancing through the living room when he played the piano. I want to tell him that I want to be just like him.

I don't want to write that he took my world apart ten years later. I don't want to write that he made me lose faith in love and marriage. That he taught me that the word family doesn't mean anything but that we share blood. That he taught me that when everything goes wrong the only person I can trust and rely on is myself.
He taught me how much you disappoint people when you lie and cheat and how much it hurts when your heart breaks. How much it hurts when someone walks away who you loved more than your own life. How hard is it to hold your crying mom in your arms and comfort her, while all you want to do is cry yourself.

He's the reason why I'm stronger today. The reason why I smile big, every time I see a dad holding his daughter. Why I want to be a better person. He's the reason why I want to love my children one day, unconditionally, no matter what their passion is or which way they will go. Why I want to be genuine, honest and loyal. Why I want to be all those things he's not.

And my fathers day card stays empty. Because I realize, need more than one.
I'll need one for my teacher when I was 18, who taught me how to drive. Who believed in me when I didn't know how to believe in myself and who promised me he would come to my wedding one day. I need one for my mentor who taught me that love is always more important than money. Who taught to trust my instincts and to chose the path that makes me happy, not the easy one. To travel the world and see all its wonders with my own eyes.
And I'll need one for my trainer who not only taught me to make my bed every morning and thank the lord for every meal, but that we need to be as honest as the horses that we ride, as heartwarming as the summer sun and as tough as the wind over the open plains. That we need to strive every day to be as good and kind and loving as we can be. That a good marriage won't come easy but that it's worth it. And that, if you work hard, be grateful and share a laugh with your loved ones, life can be truly wonderful.
And that's all I ever needed to learn.
20.6.16 03:45


In her dreams she wandered. Wandered out in the fields, her white dress flowing in the wind. Wandered out in the woods, between trees and deer. Wandered where her feet would take her, only stopping for a second to enjoy a sunrise, a sunset, anything that caught her eye. Then she would go back home.

She blinked. Opened her eyes, sitting in an airplane, in a small seat, clouds outside of the window flying by. She was a wanderer, a gypsy, a traveler, too many words for a girl who felt so small in this big world already. People envied her, wanted to travel like her, wanted to be as restless and free.

But all she wanted was a home. A place where she could stay and that nobody would take from her. She didn't come from one and wasn't going to one. She wished she would. She just wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere, with somebody, at some place. She wanted to let her heart rest, her body sleep and stay.

She used to say, if anybody would give her a reason, she would stay. She would drop her backpack that second and make it work. Let her heart be the guide between possibilities and the unknown, believe that every stop could be the last and that the last could mean forever.
But nobody ever asked her. It intimidated. It scared. Nobody wanted to make her stay, make her come back, make her get on a plane while that was all she was doing anyways. If there was any place that almost felt like home, it was on that seat, on a plane, blinking and dreaming of a world where she would wander but go back home before she woke up.
If there was any place that almost felt like home it was on that seat, on a plane because maybe, just maybe, it was getting her to her last stop, the stop where she would stay and where the last would mean forever. Forever home.
21.4.16 05:05

CONFESSION TIME: My answer is yes.

And if you would ever ask me if I have loved him, my answer would be yes.

Yes. Yes, I loved the way he laughed. The way he looked at me while I'm licking the spoon of my yoghurt after my lunchbreak. The way he grabbed me in the kitchen and kissed me in a way I would never forget.

I loved the way he was swatting flies in his jeep. The way he made me laugh. The way he made me forget that a corncob is no microphone when dirty dancing is one the radio, the way he kissed me every time I looked up to him during the movie. The way he talked about me, the way he brought me sweaters because he knew I would be cold, the way he picked me flowers, the way he told me I'm beautiful inside and out. The way he still says I'm wonderful.

She looked at me, surprised, shocked, overwhelmed. So when did you know, she asked.

I always kind of knew. I knew when he laid his head on my shoulder. I knew when he chased me down the street, when he caught me, when he made me laugh harder than I thought I ever would.
I knew it when I was driving home. He was asleep, my shotgun rider like Tim McGraw's Song blasting from the radio. I was cuddled in his sweater, my foot on the gas, the jeep on his run through dirt roads, always straight. Always straight. I was singing, it was a good night. I looked down at him and it hit me. It scared the hell out of me. But it was there. My answer was yes. Yes, I don't want any other shotgun rider like in this stupid song. Yes I loved him. Yes I loved this stupid drunk almost funny man with the big ears and the hairy chest. I loved every single piece of him and would've not wanted it any other way.

And if you ask me more questions, my answer is gonna be yes. It's hell yes. Was I terrified and scared and didn't know what to do? Yes. Was everything true? Yes. Was my heart in it? Yes. Was it stupid and unreasonable? Oh, yes. Should I stop talking about him, thinking about him, writing about him? Yes. Will he be the one that I'll never understand, the one that got away, the one that I can't have?
27.2.16 06:49

CONFESSION TIME: And when you don't know what to say, say nothing at all.

He stared through the windshield, his eyes on the empty dirt road in front of us. Watching the winds blow some red rocks around, watching the sunflowers swing in the breeze like they're dancing to their own summer tunes. I look at his tanned skin, some lines here and there from too many laughs in too many years, some little flaws, scars, spots but nothing that could ever come close to that unique green spark in his beautiful hazel eyes.
I ask him what's wrong and he looks over. "Nothin'", she says. Smiles a little. Looks back at the road.
I ask him how it comes that sometimes his eyes shine so light brown like the golden sand at the beach but sometimes they surprise me in a deep green. He laughs. "It's because of what I look at", he says. So when would they be green, I ask again, curious and a little sassy. The warm wind feels good in my hair, refreshing but still like a soft warm blanket, comfortable but wild at the same time.
"When I look at you, sometimes, they're green. When I watched you climb over that fence to feed the bulls in your shorts and boots, they're green. When I thought about what you would look like in a bathing suit, they're green. When I look at you riding shotgun next to me right now." I nodded. They were green right now. Green like the pond water sparkling in the summer nebraska sun. Green like a fantasy, a mystery, like a love story that was too good to be true.
23.2.16 20:34

CONFESSION TIME: I want to be the girl who always smiled even when her heart was broken.

And she didn't know what to write. What to say, which music to put on. What to do to describe how she felt.

She wanted you to know, desperately. She said that it was more than heartbreak. More than some shattered pieces on the floor. More than that ache in a special place that we've all felt at least once.
She said it was deeper. It wasn't guided by anger and she wasn't mad. She tried to smile while she spoke in clear words, tears running down her cheek. While she said, that it was different. It wasn't about big promises and a fast heartbeat and love at first sight.

It was the way she looked up into the deep blue sky, while she continued. And said that she would've changed her life for him. That she would've moved to the end of the world for him. And we all knew that she's been in love before and that she will fall again.
But it was the first time for her to admit that she would've done whatever was necessary to keep him. That she didn't only wanted to be a good girlfriend, she wanted to be better for him. She wanted to grow. She didn't only wanted him to want her and treat her well but she was ready to jump in with the same effort. She didn't need to be flattered. She was ready to flatter him.

And she wasn't sure if she would be okay, fine in a few hours, done crying and ready to move on. Or if she would break down, a victim of feelings she couldn't describe, no lyrics seemed to fit, no words seemed to be right.
And even though he betrayed her, lied to her and left her in the worst possible way, she still couldn't stop smiling when she thought of him. The way he joked and touched her. And even though she never wanted to see him again in her entire life, she wanted him to be happy. She told him. She never wanted him to feel in the way she did.
A way she couldn't put into words.
29.5.15 17:37


I can't pretend that I don't miss him. And I can't say that it wouldn't hurt a bit, deep inside my heart, with every single beat.

I remember him right next to me on that couch, two weeks ago but it feels like it happened in a different world, a universe far away. Sometimes I wonder if it really happened or if it was something I daydreamed, something I imagined, I wished for maybe. But then I find a note he left me, look at his coffee cup still sitting in the sink and one last bottle of beer in the fridge, waiting for him to come back.

I remember him walking next to me, quiet with eyes that were wide awake and this smile on his lips if I made a joke. I remember him singing his favorite old country song, over and over again and I still remember every single word, every rhyme. I remember how his eyes light up when I offer him chocolate after a long day of traveling or when his first cold beer is put in front of him.
I remember his lips. His eyes. I remember what he tastes and feels like. His warmth and how safe he made me feel.

I can't pretend that it didn't happen. And I don't know if I should embrace what I feel or run, if I should hope or ignore, if I should believe or give up.

I just can't pretend that I don't miss him. That's all. No love of my life romance, no happily every after endings, no dramatic heart break.
But I can't say it wouldn't hurt a bit deep inside my heart. I can't say I wouldn't think about him every day. Or that I wouldn't remember, remember everything, remember every single precious second we have spend.
20.4.15 23:18

CONFESSION TIME: All I ever wanted for him was to be happy.

I can almost hear the excitement in his voice while my eyes read the letters that he typed into his phone. I can almost feel his heart beating faster when he read her lines. Just a few words. But I can tell how much it moved him. And he probably doesn't know why. Or maybe, he just doesn't want to know.

He always said that it's over. Over for good. She broke his heart in the worst way and left him with all the little pieces. He has all those amazing reasons to hate her, to never want to see her again and to start completely over. But he never really did. He talked more about her than he should. He kept all those happy pictures far enough to not hurt away but close enough to just take them back. Maybe. One day.

All I ever wanted for him was to be happy. I wanted him to never lose this beautiful smile of his again. I wanted him to never get hurt like this again. Because it hurt me to see him like this. I wanted to help him, to fix him, to be the person he can talk to in the middle of the night.

He told me everybody has only one real heartbreak. She was his. But his eyes still have this glow when he talks about her. He still smiles a bit. He still has this look. And I can almost hear how his heart beats faster the second he read her lines. The little pink heart she sent him. And that was the second when I knew it wasn't over. Maybe it would be one day. But I couldn't wait this long. I shouldn't.

All I ever wanted for him was to be happy.
Even if it means that I have to let him go. For good.
3.2.15 18:16

Confession time: we lived on borrowed time.

he told me he would change my name. He laughed. In his book, he said, in his story. He would change my name.

I never said that. That I would change his name, because I wouldn't. I would always remember him as the guy with one of my favorite names. As the guy whose name sounded like I wanted to hear it again one day. One of those names that I will never forget.

he looked at me with his deep blue eyes. Joked around, his fingers slipping through my blonde hair. He said once that he had missed me. He never said that he's happy that I'm here. Or that he's gonna miss me when I'm gone. He never had to.

We live on borrowed time. People like me, no home but too many stories. Everywhere I go becomes my home, whoever I meet becomes my crowd and the guy who's just perfect right now becomes the one that I wanna wake up next to the next morning.

He always knew that. He always knew I'm not gonna stay and he didn't ask. He never had to.
He always knew I was weird. And a bit crazy. A mess. and that one day, I would leave.

We borrowed some hours, some days. It felt like a vacation in our own world. We closed the door to Reality and kept it closed for as long as we could. We ignored the hours and minutes slipping away, running like sand through our fingers. We ignored that it's not forever and we never said so. We borrowed just a few perfect days. Days spent kissing and cuddling, talking and touching, dancing and laughing. Days that we owned and that nobody could take from us. Ever.

And we never said goodbye. We kissed and I left. Ran into the crowd and didn't look back. let the bright lights of the city lead my path and the everyday noise cover his voice.

No, I wouldn't change his name. Not in this story, not even in my thoughts. I wouldn't change one detail of those borrowed days. I wouldn't change how his lips tasted on mine or how I fell asleep to his heartbeat at night. I wouldn't change how I secretly wished that I could borrow more. More days, more time. Maybe borrow him completely to take him with me on this crazy journey that I call my own. Just for a bit. Just for a bit longer.

i watched the waves roll by, one by one, peacefully touching the dark sand, just to go back where they came from, the mysterious midnight black ocean. It must have been 3am, maybe 4. I've lost track of time a while ago. It was this time where feelings move your tongue and purest honesty is the key. He looked up to me. Smiled. We could fight tigers together, I heared him say, while my eyes followed the rhythm of the waves. We could. We could do so many things when the night is long and the thoughts full of love. So many.
I didn't know if I would ever see him again. We lived on borrowed time. Just some borrowed time.
28.12.14 06:57

CONFESSION TIME: let's be strangers.


He looked straight at me with his big blue eyes. Asked me what my big plan was. My goals for the next ten years. My career plan, my bright future.

And I told him that I will always be okay. That I will always find a job. That I don't care about risks. That I'm not afraid of the unknown. That all I want is to be happy, to love what I do and see the world. That I want to meet new people and try things I've never done before. That I don't want to visit places, I want to live there. That I want to take every impression in and look at the sun from every corner of this beautiful world.

He shook his head. Laughed a bit. Told me that he's all about minimizing risks and playing it safe. That he follows his plans and reaches his career goals right in time. That he works for the same company since 10 years. That he plans his vacation one year ahead and already knows his dinner schedule for the next week.

And he knew what he had to do right now. It was this second in silence after all the months worth of trying and heartbreak and tears that we looked each other in the eyes and truly realized that we would never be together. That it would never be enough. Enough of what we need to be happy.
There was nothing left to be said, nothing left to talk about. And I knew his kiss was good bye. And the next time our paths would cross it would be as strangers. Strangers that once loved. Strangers that may feel the same sun burning on their skin but never look at it in the same way.
30.11.14 15:47

CONFESSION TIME: About the way we hurt.

― pleasefindthis, I Wrote This For You

He was always honest. He told me if he thought it's dangerous at night or if he wanted to see me again. He was always straight up. He said the perfect things in the right moments but never promised me the world. He just never needed to. He was the kind of free spirit that my over judged damaged heart just needed so badly, just to believe that his kind is still out there and that wild hearts really should never break completely.
He was the kind of nice guy that gave me hope. He wasn't perfect and he probably never would be mine. He was too heart broken himself to take on another mess of shattered pieces like me. But he showed me that's okay to hurt the way you hurt. Even if it means to hurt deeper than you thought you ever would.
And he had that silent grace in which he picked up all the broken pieces she left him and constantly put them back together, one by one, slowly, hurting like hell but still didn't stop.

It was his way of showing me that all you need is a leap of faith. That it's okay to be careful around fire after you got burned so badly. That it's okay to take your time and that you truly don't need to worry.
He became this carefree voice in my head that I knew from the beginning would change my path. I knew I would never forget him. Never lose him because he was never mine. Never get so close to make him a part of my life even though I badly wanted to. Never even get close enough to get a glimpse on his own kind of magic hidden behind those deep blue eyes.
But it would feel just close enough to let him touch me so truly, so deeply, it would not just inspire me but move me in a way that would make me believe: Believe in better days, in my own strength, my bright mind and the kindness of my heart. He would make me believe because he could.
24.11.14 00:39

CONFESSION TIME: Almost, just almost.

I was almost worried he would change me. Almost.
I was almost worried he would make me wanna stay. That he would bring out a side inside me that I almost forgot I had.

Everytime when I packed my things, ready to move to the next chapter of my life and my friends sat me down, right next to all my belongings, boxed up in my living room, they would ask me one question. If I would ever consider to stay somewhere. If the day could actually come and I would settle down for good.

I always laughed when they asked me that. I used to talk about staying. I used to think about it. It just never happened.
And then I always gave them the same answer. That one day if I would ever find a reason to not leave, I would stay. One day. If I would ever find that damn reason.

I was worried he could be that reason. That he could tame my heart enough that my urge to be with him would be bigger and stronger than to wander around the world alone. Maybe a part of me secretly hoped it would be possible to love someone that much. And to stay with him.

I was almost worried he would change me. I was scared, I was confused, I wasn't sure if it would freak me out and make me run or calm me down instead like coming home after just too many years of wandering and wondering.
I was almost worried that I found a new home. A place to stay. But just almost. Just almost.
7.11.14 16:07

CONFESSION TIME: and she was begging for thread.

He looked at me while the song played. Looked at me and asked me if it was the right one. The one on my mind. I let myself sink deeper into his fluffy couch pillows and nodded. It wasn't. It wasn't the one on my mind. But this one felt so much more appropriated. I wasn't drowning anymore.
I was begging for thread.

It feels like it was yesterday that I sat on this comfy grey couch, drank some apple cider and tried to keep bugs from getting into the apartment after a long day at the beach. It was hot, it was always hot there. I lost my luggage on the way but realized soon that I didn't need more than a bathing suit and a beach dress that was just long enough to get away with it at a bar.
I realized that I don't need much to be happy. To feel like I'm at the right spot where I need to be. Where I should be.

Since I'm back in europe, it has been overwhelming. Confusing.
Instead of feeling even clearer about what I want and where I belong I'm even more begging for thread.

People tell you that you find yourself at your travels, in a place you've never been before. I didn't find myself.
I learned things I already knew, I remembered details I should've never forgotten and in the end it brings me back to a little girls dream. To her own fairytale that she had in her little blonde head all along and just kind of forgot along the way. She got distracted, the world took her over, ripped everything apart that she believed in. Since then she's been trying, searching, fighting. But in the end it comes all down to her dream of freedom and love, some feathers in her hair, a pony by her side and a cowboy who can keep her warm at night. Because I don't need much to be happy. I never did. And all the little blonde girl ever wanted was to be happy.
15.10.14 20:04

CONFESSION TIME: Weil es eben so ist.

Und als ich in mich hören wollte, um dir all das zu sagen, was ich fühle, blieb ich stumm.
Ich hatte es mir zurecht gelegt. Das Herzklopfen, die Tränen in den Augen, das flaue Gefühl im Bauch. Ich wollte es dir sagen, es dir vor die Füße legen in der Hoffnung, dass du nicht versehentlich darüber stolperst.
Ich wollte dir geben, was ich zu verschenken habe, ich wollte dir anbieten, was sich im letzten Jahr in mir gesammelt hat, ich wollte dich spüren lassen, das du es bist und immer sein wirst. Derjenige, über den ich an trübsinnigen Regentagen schreibe. Denjenigen, an den ich denke, wenn die Sonne mir warm ins Gesicht lacht.

Ich habe dich verflucht. Ich würde lachen, während mir eine Träne über die Wange läuft. Oh, wie oft ich dich verflucht habe. Dich nicht mehr sehen wollte. Dich vergessen wollte, so sehr, dass ich es selber geglaubt habe. Du magst mir mein Herz gebrochen haben, doch du warst der Grund, dass ich es gespürt habe. Dass ich wusste, dass es da ist und dass ich lebe. Und dass jede Umarmung, jeder Kuss, deine Nähe mich jeden Schmerz vergessen lässt.

Ich wollte dir sagen, dass ich es liebe, wie du mich im Schlaf festhältst. Dass dein Geruch mein liebstes Parfüm ist. Ich wollte dir sagen, dass ich dich liebe. So einfach und so wahr. Dass ich dich in meinem Leben haben will. Voller Wahnsinn und Komplikationen und Schwierigkeiten und Missverständnisse und was sonst noch kommen mag. Ich würde mich ihm stellen, bereit und bewaffnet.

Und ich würde lachen. Und weinen. Und wieder lachen. Ich würde dich halten, so fest und dir geben was ich habe und hoffen, dass es genug ist. Dass es nicht zu spät ist. Dass es für alle meine Fehler reicht. Nicht, weil es kitschig sein soll oder ich das Gleiche zurück möchte. Sondern weil es einfach so ist.

Doch ich blieb stumm. Hörte dich mit meinen Freunden wie durch einen Nebel mit dicken Wattepuffern reden. Ich blieb stumm und starrte dir nach, bis du in der Dunkelheit verschwunden warst.
25.6.14 16:43

CONFESSION TIME: Stories without an happy ending

Ich habe dir nie gesagt, wie schön du aussiehst, wenn du lachst. Ich habe dir nie gesagt, wie gut dir das dunkle Jeanshemd steht. Ich habe dir nie gesagt, wie wahnsinnig du mich machst, wenn deine haselnussbraunen Augen mich fixieren.

Es gibt viel zu viel, was ich dir nie gesagt habe. Es könnte Bücher füllen. Stories über dich und mich ohne happy end. Stories voller magischer Momente, Atem anhalten und kleiner Berührungen. Stories, von denen ich manchmal wünschte, dass man sie sich später noch erzählt. Doch auch das habe ich dir nie gesagt.

Ich habe versucht dir zu sagen, dass ich mich auf dich verlassen können muss. Dass du mir wichtiger bist, als du dir vorstellen kannst. Ich habe versucht dir Raum für dich zu geben und du kamst jedes Mal zu mir zurück. Jedes Mal.

Ich habe versucht dir zu sagen, dass das nicht reicht. Dass ich mich blind fallen lassen möchte in der Gewissheit, dass du immer da bist, um mich aufzufangen. Ich habe versucht unsere Story umzuschreiben. Mit einem Lachen am Ende und eine Schmunzeln. Mit ein bisschen happily ever after.

Was machen wir, wenn alles nicht genug ist? Wenn zu viele gesagte und ungesagte Worte explodieren? Wenn unsere Story zu viele halbe Kapitel, zu viele Wünsche, Hoffnungen und zu viele Bruchlandungen hat?
Was mache ich, wenn ich neben dir liege, in den Nachthimmel hinaus starre und nicht mehr an unser Happy End glauben kann? Wenn ich Bücher mit Stories über uns füllen könnte. Stories, die zumindest ich gerne erzählen werde. Stories ohne happy end.
11.6.14 21:12

CONFESSION TIME: Ich bin hier, flüsterte ich in die Nacht.

"Ich bin hier." Ich sprach leise, als dürfte die Nacht nicht erfahren, wohin mich meine Wege geführt hatten.
"Sara?" Er klang heise. Hustete etwas. "Sara, bist du das?"

Er sagte, ich hätte ihn fallen lassen können. Er sagte, er wüsste, wie chaotisch sein Leben ist. Dass er Fehler mache.

Sein Herzschlag neben meinem. Sein ruhiger Atem auf meiner Haut. Seine Hand hält die Meine. Fest und warm.

Vor 14 Stunden, als ich die Augen aufschlug, hatte ich es mir gewünscht. Eine Nacht in seinem Arm. Heimlich und unoffiziell. Ein bisschen gestohlene Zeit. Ein bisschen Vernunft zu ignorieren und mein Herz mich führen zu lassen.
Um 1 Uhr Nachts, wenn alle Straßen schwarz sind, alle Lichter grell und Schatten hoch und nur dein Herz weiß, wo du heimlich Zuhause bist.

"Ich wusste, dass ich dich wiedersehe. Dass ich dich immer wiedersehe."
Ich lachte verlegen. Was machst du, wenn dein Herz etwas so sehr will, aber dein Verstand weiß, dass es dich innerlich zerstört?

Eigentlich war ich immer vorsichtig gewesen. Hatte bei der Zahnbürste im Bad noch nicht an die Hochzeit gedacht und hatte es langsam angehen wollen.
Doch übrig geblieben, nach drei Mal drei Monaten waren nur gute Vorsätze, Herzklopfen und genug emotionaler Masochismus, um ihn wiedersehen zu wollen. Wieder, und wieder, und wieder.
5.6.14 13:49

CONFESSION TIME: Don't tell me you want to enjoy all the beautiful things in life with me.

Ich will nicht die schönen Dinge im Leben mit dir genießen. Nicht die wundervollen Sonnenuntergänge an Urlaubstagen und nicht die freien Sonntagmorgene, die perfekter nicht sein könnten.
Ich will nicht mit dir genießen, wie wunderschön und unkompliziert das Leben sein kann. Ich will mir nicht mit dir die rosarote Brille aufsetzen und in der Sonne liegen. Ich will dich nicht an Feierabenden und mit einem Lächeln auf den Lippen.
Ich will nicht das schöne Leben mit dir genießen.

Ich will dich, wenn alles zusammenbricht. Ich will dich neben mir, wenn jeder andere geht. Ich will dich an Regentagen, an den beschissensten Momenten in meinem Leben. Ich will dich zwischen Problemen und Tränen, zwischen Arbeitsstress und stornierten Reisen. Ich will dich, wenn ich glaube, dass es nicht weitergeht. Ich will dich, wenn meine Welt in Stücke bricht.

Und wenn du das nicht willst, sei frei und gehe deinen Weg. Erzähle mir keine Geschichten, dass du das Leben mit mir genießen willst. Erzähle mir nicht, dass du all die Sonnentage mit mir erleben willst.
Erzähle mir, dass du bleibst, wenn es schwierig wird. Dass du mit mir die Zähne zusammen beißt, wenn es hart wird. Dass du glaubst, dass wir, wenn der Regen vorbei ist, wieder zusammen in die Sonne gehen. Dass es keine Rolle spielt, ob wir genießen oder Seite an Seite kämpfen.
Erzähle mir nicht nur, dass du da bist, sondern auch da bleibst.
24.5.14 14:03

CONFESSION TIME: I want to kiss more often. 24/7.


18 Tage. Und etwa eine Stunde.
18 Tage, seit ich dich das letzte Mal geküsst habe.
18 Tage, die sich wie Wochen anfühlen.

Ein Bisschen ist nett. Ein paar Stunden sind schön. Sie sagen, man solle den Moment schätzen. Dass ein Bisschen schöner sein könne, als ganz viel. Sie sagen, unsere Magie läge in der kurzen Zeit. In dem Ende in Sicht. Sie sagen, eine exklusive Praline schmecke besser als die ganze Tafel Nussschokolade.

Ich widerspreche. Ich nasche Tafelweise. Ich glaube nicht an wenige Stunden. Ich will Tage, Wochen, Jahre. Ich will 24/7.
Ich will dich, jetzt, hier und heute. Ich will dich bei mir, nah und vertraut. Ich widerspreche. Ich glaube, dass wir magisch sind, wie wir sind. Ohne Ablaufdatum, ohne Grenzen. Ohne Atemholen und Pausen. Ich widerspreche. Ein Bisschen von dir lässt mich nur mehr wollen. Lässt mich dich halten wollen. Und ich weiß, dass ich das nicht darf.

Noch 21 Tage. Vielleicht ein paar Stunden, give or take.
Noch 21 Tage, bis ich dich wieder küssen kann. Bis ich dich so fest halten kann, dass es sich anfühlt, als ob du nie weg warst. Als ob du immer bei mir warst. 24/7. Nah und vertraut.
Noch 21 Tage. Vielleicht ein paar Stunden weniger.

Und hier hatten sie Recht. Wir sollten uns häufiger küssen. 24/7.
11.4.14 20:17

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