Blessed are the forgetful for they get the better even of their blunders.

To forget. To stop the flow of history by building a wall in the memory. To prevent ourselves of going in the same direction ad nauseam. To select without much thought, what to keep and what to drop.

I miss you. I don´t. You hurt me. I understood why and I forgive you. I want to talk to you. I should not. I´m exhausted. I cry at times. Then I forget you and move on for a moment until this pervasive thoughts of you get me again. I try to be patient with myself. I can´t. I try to caress the pain and hold it, try to embrace the storm as it is part of the journey. I can´t. Then it gets harder and the burden is heavier and this tsunami of tears that was behind my eyes makes its way through... and I can´t.

You are a zero. And you are the world.

The muse is a creation of the poet. And all heavens of all religions know how good I am at creating those goddesses. Neo-psychoanalysis would say that I only projected my fantasies on you. And yes, you were kind at times, funny at times, cute and caring at times. And then distant and selfish. Just as any other human being. So why then, it has to be you? If you are not different.

Because it was your turn, I guess. It touched you this time. So all I have to do is sit here and wait for reality to hit me, for my fantasies disguised as memories fade away. Your absence is not the cause of my pain. Is only the absence of a screen in which I was projecting, as an expert director, the movie of the woman of my dreams.

Noch einmal.

I must admit that...

We are all so fragile. You never know who has depression, who's struggling with life. Yet, we talk to others as if they were ready to take all the shit we have to share. If you do this with someone who's depressed, you could end up ruining someone's day to say the least. We are all lonely. Dealing with our own baggage without being able to share it. No one can take a bit of the weight you have over your shoulders, cause they're carrying theirs. They want you to help, you want them to help. You want them to listen but they want to talk.

He thinks racism in his country is the worst and you should be listening and talking about it. Doing something about it. Meanwhile, she thinks the worst is that they are killing people like her in the place she lives. She wants you to share her posts about it on Facebook. She wants you to sign a petition, to go with her to a protest. This other guy cannot sleep cause he's thinking every night and every day where the fuck his brother could be. If he's alive, if he's OK. If he ran away or someone killed him. The other one is stressed as fuck because he's bankrupt. Another is crying cause he wants to leave his wife but he can't. He doesn't know why and anxiety is killing him. He hates himself because he cannot be honest. The other one is living with a kidney transplant. He knows it won't last more than three years. He can't sleep, because the thought of his child crying his death disturbs him. The other one is obsessed with finding a house. The other one cries in silence because she has depression but everybody has too many problems to have time to hold her hand.

We are all being irrational and selfish. There are counsellors. That should help somehow. But racism, kidney failure, poverty, transphobia, and a such, cannot be stopped with counselling.

Yo no quiero oler tus flores.

Inevitablemente se me van a morir todos y todas. Si quisiera no llorarles, tendré que morirme antes. No quiero causarles dolor, ni vivir el de su pérdida.

¿Ves entonces por qué la extinción repentina de nuestra especie es lo más conveniente?

Should we...?

Yes, yes, definitely.

Ich meine, bitte. 

Du und ich

Wir waren wunderlich.