It takes effort

I could write a poem now about how it is to be with someone or without; it doesn‘t really matter.

We do not speak. We start speaking again, though I know that I should really know better.

Let me tell you about the tree and my walks in the forest at night.  I wasn‘t sure whether it was really him inside that body. We also didn't really speak about this, did we?

I‘m not able to stick to any of my plans. How on earth should I stick to a person. 

 

Still, my heart somehow sticks. Let us embrace the tree and think it is ridiculous. Let‘s keep walking.

All this makes my blood thick and heavy. It takes effort to keep moving. 

We have to dance tonight, keep the heart light, keep floating. I shut my door, go to bed and sleep. Shutting the door is the best form of bonding.

In the morning things will be bright. And old. And gone. And still there, at the same spot with the same presence crawling into my life. Isn't that cruel?

People turn into abstract creatures when you look at them too long. How to know myself without looking too long and coming to the conclusion that I don‘t exist while all that exists is I. ... Sigh. 

There is no key. All there is is the moment and to be. 

Ha, now you made me hug that tree
though I explicitly said I wanted to keep walking!