I make eggs in the morning. I listen to this music. I think of my love and admiration for S.

Then I sit down and eat my eggs. The world is grey outside. And a wave crushes over me. A crying that comes over me and I just let it come. It feels like this is my last meal it feels as if death is inevitable. A strange sensation. What a strange feeling that is. Maybe I have to go through this one more time. Fully aware. I am so confused. I really don´t know. I was so scared of dying these last past weeks. As if it was bound to happen. And of course it is bound to happen, at some point. But the idea of it happening soon is a completely different mind game. Why is this happening? I am afraid that I am merely over dramatizing things. Or not getting at the root of something. Or maybe I am just plain scared and that´s okay. Maybe it is okay. Maybe it is just fear. I wonder what Max and Uli must have gone through.

it´s bitter sweet pity - to feel the stir of genuinity beneath it all. as if there is something waiting. and it´s been waiting for so long. it´s been waiting because you took other roads, deluded yourself and missed your twenties.
the only salvation lies in the consoling thought, that maybe perhaps all these experiences will be worth something one day. maybe i can melt them one day into some grande finale. or some grande something. or nothing. who cares.
it is the point beyond doubts. when doubts occur but do not matter in the same way because you are finding your way down the stairs in the dark, carefully putting one foot after the other, trembling and daring.
that´s the way to go.
to follow your heart.

so i go out, out, out, something is a'callin me. i meander from place to person to place to phone to beer and smokes. i find, on my way out, a person to talk to, another one to fight off. gazes thrown into the room like fragile glass bulbs crashing on the floor.
and then i come home. i take the night bus. i take the night bus to the hotel. i open the book and i read. i read of her loss. how her child was kidnapped and killed. i read about her reasons of publishing her diary and the correspondence relating to the case. and as i read i calm down. i come to the place that was calling in the first place. a strange clarity fills my mind and my heart.
i bow to you anne lindbergh. these are the little seedlings of truth you were hoping would reach hearts to shine a light in the dark.
it is quiet. it is quiet now here. it is okay to be quiet.
it is okay.

sometimes i get the feeling that i have been running, even though there are moments and moments of peace. but sometimes i get the feeling that i have been running. restlessly. away and back and fro. to touch upon this fragile deep memory. to get back in touch with you. to get back in touch with me. to truly feel that what has happened and who i have become now.

maybe it isn´t awkward to go back to this place. maybe it is okay. maybe it is the only saving grace i have to pick up myself where i have let off.