(30.10.2025) - Thursday, 02:51pm

M, 
you know I couldn't resists, but it healed my heart from feeling you drowning. At least I know you are good, although it costed my dignity.
I am not sure if I was able to tell you that I am proud of you.
I can't grasp what has been the trauma that got stuck to you, that wove itself into your mind and soul, but I deeply believe you have one or two or many. You, and anybody else, are not meant to carry them all life long. We are all children. We should be all protected. If I could do a dream tent (as we remember them from carnivals or hootenannies) just for one evening and pretend maybe not more than one second to be Fritz Lang, I would use the moment to show you a whole universe, let you feel the world once she is set free. The ghosts he drew were yellow; and I deeply believe it is because he made fun of the fear. There is an end of pain; there always is, and it is worth looking out for it, because everyone deserves it. A human can't fly, but without the wings there should be also no weight.
Everyone deserves to be free.
I am not sure if I felt save enough to tell you that I am scared that your path means my flowers; that it directly crosses through my garden and leaves the grass stepped down. I couldn't and I know that this has something to do with me; not you. You are not meant to provide me shelter, because in the end we all die alone. And so I did not tell you because I, myself,  fear the monotoneman. I don't want you to know the monotoneman, too. 
I was neither brave enough to tell you that we could have a path and a garden together; although you told me about your love. It scares me, that within one conversation you run from hill to valley and back up, I feel you breathless (which seems logic from all the hastiness), but I don't know if I am fit enough to keep running after you. You remind me of Sisyphus, although he had a stone and felt himself okay. You don't. And to be honest, we reached a point where I don't know nothing either. Not about you, and maybe just a little bit more about myself. 
There is a saying in German: »Mein Name ist Hase, ich weiß noch nichts.« My name is not rabbit, but I am the same clueless how I can help you, and when you shift from shelter to enemy. When we said goodbye I felt onsra, and when I looked at you I assumed you felt it too. I still wonder if you were supposed to say it, if this was the reason for your tears in between. But since you chose silence, I choose not to reflect deeper on it.
It's been a long week,
L

(29.10.2025) - Wednesday, 10:32pm

Dear M,
I can't describe how hurtful this silence is, and yet, this time I promised myself to not be the one reaching out. My fear now, though, is that you let too much time pass. I am needy to know if you are good, just that, but I sit with the cat and we say to each other you would be. I don't know how this all could happen in first place. And so this morning, when I had been walking for two hours I realized that I simply never fell in love with someone in that way that I did with you and I am afraid to admit that. I remember the very first time I saw your face, and how it got stuck in my head. And now I sit here, and nothing more I wish than you, simply reaching out with the question how I am, not stating that you hope I am good, but really asking. Neither of both you did and I wonder if this will be ever possible. 
If we would speak I could tell you that I was at my grandfathers grave and I stayed a while; in the end it was the moon who lightened me the way back to the car. I had not been at his grave for more than 10 years, it had been always too hurtful, but today I brought something to eat and while I sat there I hold with my fingers the plants that grew from his soil. Somewhat it gave me the feeling it was his hand that touched me back. Today I understood that you were right although you never said it; he committed suicide, smart enough to make the state part of it. I claimed some time ago that I respect him for that, and I do, but while touching this plant I cried for more than an hour. How horrible it must have been for him, the life, that he didn't want. 
L

(28.10.2025) - Tuesday, 09:16pm

M,
I can't lie. I hoped so much you would have taken the night train, and if you had, I grabbed you at the station. At the border; I have no idea. I just want to hold you for a moment, feel your smell on my hair.
You didn't, neither you called, and so I spoke all day with the witch, because I run out of arguments to keep myself apart, in posture - these things. Now that it is evening this day feels lost. I went to my grandmother and we spoke; partly I regret it, because I don't know what to do with what she said. She looked so sad. For now I am not brave enough to write it here (neither elsewhere), because it lasts heavily on a soul. So instead I entertained myself all day. It didn't help. All that although I got up early and walked the dog to get some fresh air. In the end, I just found myself in a book shop, reading random stuff I did not want to buy. I bought something for my mother though, maybe as an excuse for yesterday. At home I listened music, it didn't help. I wrote about a poem, it didn't help. Nothing helps, because all I need is you and all you need is help. Writing it down makes it even more hurtful, because all I am and all I do is circling around you. Anyways, I believe it's for the best, the writing. I put it down to spend some time with you and then, later, to come back to you. 
I miss you deeply and 48 hours are enough to make this feeling a hill.
While writing this, I can see the moon of where I sit, hoping you look at it as well; and that we at least share this view for a tiny tiny moment from where we actually are.
But then I remember what you said in my dream; that we only had the day light to share... 
x

(27.10.2025) - Monday, 08:41am

M, 
I left the train and a guy in suit spoke to me; said he appreciated my energy. I had not the feeling it would be a truth to claim I had a partner, to say to him that I have a boyfriend neither, rather I barked at him that he should never speak to someone on a Monday morning. I am not proud of this; because this person looked very much put together and so I thought this was something like the universe would send. A person in suit and with an organized scarf. Because, what if not the universe, would make me to respond to someone like this. Maybe it was there, just to tell me that I can walk, this is what I had been thinking. Still. I know how that sounds, and I don't want to pity myself, because I assume, at one point, this suit-well-dressed-person did. Or not, who cares. 
I left, rather waited for the subway alone, and all this time I listened myself thinking, debating, hearing: after one year we ended up on the same moon, not on the light side, not on the one we could see the earth. It sounded like you were standing in water; and I felt you felt down. I needed to compose myself to be a person that my mother could appreciate at her birthday. And I feel sorry, that I nearly missed out on it. She doesn't deserve to be pushed down the hill I described yesterday, just because I can't tell her in the language all this is happening what is happening. I checked trains and busses that are separating you and me, and a tiny moment I wondered if I should travel to you, just so our hands touch.
But I debated, right?
So at one point, some of me won and I decided against. 
Leni

(27.10.2025) - Monday, 02:07am
I can't sleep, and so I wrote a poem, which makes me feel ashamed, because I think poems are for dreamers, and dreamers I see as the big sisters of wishers.
I’m almost scared of dreaming 
I will see you , knowing , we won’t meet 
Last night I walked after you and it turned out to be true 
The night before I couldn’t find you 
And this might be true as well 
What is a poem? 
What a breath? 
I can’t hold to exhale and yet it will be gone 
I can’t breathe while staying 

(26.10.2025) - Sunday, 11:30pm

M,
I feel my body was right to warn me, while it doesn't lessen the feeling. 
You can't imagine, how big my empathy is when I think of your pain. I am scared, that you loose yourself, but I start to be also scared of you loosing us two. And what then becomes of the me. Maybe, as it had been during psychosis, my body tries to forecast, and so I write, before the things happen. I am aware of how that sounds. I feel there is much to process, and my heart breaks when I think that at some point I need to take care of myself, because without you, I don't want this entity. But with you, at this point, I fear to loose it all, you, me, intimacy. The last time we stepped away, I only breathed because I could believe that it mirrored a mastery, that I would walk up the mountain; that on the other side will be water I had never seen and would never need to show you. Indeed it had been a lake of tears; but it also had been a reassurance that myself is a wonderland. I could hope for your respect of not following me on that hill. With your coming back I lost that trust. What if you will forever walk after me; and I will need to be always faster, not clearer. 
These things go around my head; while I lick a wound that had not been there before this day. One more, produced because of your pain, under my skin. 
I wish so much, that one day we would not need to dance on a slope, that we could both take off our shoes. 
Wishes, though, are mostly for children, and for eye lashes, and for moments where the toast falls - so but at least someone would be an idiot planning things based on wishes - because all them are determined with not much of open end. Experiencing the non-time, it yet feels devastating, to wait for the sun being born.
Leni

(26.10.2025) - Sunday, 04:58pm

Dear M,
there had been so much happening this afternoon, but my body feels like telling me something that I don't want to accept. I have longing to tell you how it felt to be on the graveyard. That I reflected on the birth and death dates and that all them died no matter of why they did. And that I thought all the war was for no reason, because assumingely, now they all shared still the same earth; before they go to wherever they all came from. It sat deep with me to see children being born between 39 and 45, because it leaves just one assumption of what their parents had been. I watered some flowers of a grave with a Russian last name. I recognizes one aside the one of my grandparents that must have been of a gay couple. I always assume that I am not the most tender, and yet, when everybody went to the car I excused myself with writing papers. I don't call you, because I am disconnected of you. I feel that at the moment you can not bring this empathy; while neither I want to drown you in thoughts that are mostly reflective and filled with understanding of the own past. You have your own, I guess I respect that and so I write it here.
L

(26.10.2025) - Sunday, 10:29am 

Dear M,
I had dreamt of you and it had felt like a follow up of the dream that I just produced on yesterday's afternoon.
In my dream, somewhat, I ended up in Paris, and I was supposed to find you, but not that you had been gone, like on the afternoon, rather you were all over, but you were not with me. It felt like I was simply not meant to catch up with you, although you had been all in front. So at some point I found myself in a parking lot, and then on a meadow, it was night constantly. I remembered, in that dream, that I had tried the same the dream before and so I skipped asking people and rather followed the path that led to the castle in Nantes. (Why ever.) A lot of people, and I tell you M, a lot a lot of people had been sitting there on the night-meadow. And so I tried to see you somewhere there, just to understand, you stood exactly in front of me. 
You told me that I shouldn't be here. That there was no space for me at this tiny moment. You said, there would be, but only in the day. 
However, I could not make it day in that dream, and so I guess this was the reason why I woke up. 
Leni

(26.10.2025) - Sunday, 04:12am 

Dear M,
when I left the house I had an intuition, and I carried it with me from the front door to the forest. It had been scary to hear the sound, but it had been even more scary that the sound of the forest kept following, and it scared me the most that the sound at no point carried a face. It followed me out of the forest but on the other side, it followed along the street. I tried to sound funny, when I sent you an audio; because the sound behind me had been appearing more close. This might be called hysteria... I looked back only one time but I carried a light and so I felt blinded. Therefore I didn't repeat. I had been scared of the darkness since I was a child; if I would translate my infantility: The dark doesn’t begin, it just swallows. The edge of the table, first, then the floor and the door, me. The tiny me. I reached for a sound and missed... all that because it's the speed of disappearing light. You can not imagine how fast I walked.
Sometimes others are the enemies; sometimes it is reality itself. And sometimes I have problems to indicate the difference. So I sat on the kitchen floor for a while, with the dog and the cat, gave that feeling within me some space; I turned on 7.83 Hz. I waited that the voice, which, in a bright day, admonishes me to be normal, stops asking if I could trust the entity that carries my mind. I thought, while sitting there, about your audio. It disturbed me. I listened to it again and again, trying to find some sense in it; and at a point I started wondering why you didn't call. The more time passed, the more it disrupted me; I can't find a reason why you shouldn't be valuing my experience. (...) Assumingely, this process took longer than I could grasp, and so when I went up from the floor I felt embarrassed. Time is just a construct, alright, but in this moments I wonder where my mind went. If it flew, and if it sheltered the others. So I brushed my teeth and went back down to make myself a coffee. A car light from the street fell into the kitchen window, I looked at the stove, it had been 01:17am. I thought it was my mother and her partner; but nobody entered, while the light neither disappeared. I took my coffee, went up and started writing this essay, because if - if - something helped, it had been always finding logic language. I wondered if I should call you, but I saw you spent your evening outside. 
About one hour later I went down to let the dog out and to smoke a cigarette. Exiting the house, I saw that the car was at the exact same spot, still with light on, so I checked my phone and it had been 02:34am at that point. First I was not brave enough to look at the car; why ever; but when I did, it started the motor and it passed the house, very very slow, before it disappeared. 
At the moment it is nearly four, and my mother finally came home. I feel embarrassed to write this, because I am nearly 30. I should be capable of the darkness, a car is a car and not more. 
I am not sure why I am saying all this; but my intuition didn't disappear at any point, and so I start wondering, if it had something to do with the car in first place; or rather with the disturbance of your message. Your silence. The wonder, if you see me as part of your presence; or if, at some point, you would let me run into something, that made you think again just afterwards. 
It had been a strange night. 
Leni