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A short love letter
we hide many things, we don't show them to anyone, out of shame, out of fear that our vulnerability could be used. Imperfection pricks like a thorn. Pressure from outside, pressure from within to conform to images, not the other way around. Everyday life is often pervaded by this madness. In the morning, after the alarm clock rings, sand in the eyes, creaking joints, moon craters in the face at night, staggering, listlessness, grumbling, stale. It's all part of life, but they don't like to show it. But that's normal and good. Your presence helps me to shift my gaze. Because with you I can be as I am. You accept without reservation
You wake up next to me and lie on me like a veil, like the finest mist. I draw the curtains, sun floods the bedroom, you on my skin, in my textiles, your smell in my nose, penetrates my brain, doesn't let go of me, you won't let go of me. You dream of bergamot. You shift the autumnal softness of your family of origin into the creamy, easygoing. Fluffy and airy cream, not heavy at all, not dragging bitter. Soft, harmonious, through and through. Bergamot ice cream in summer. With slightly sweetish elements, like vanilla oranges, and delicate green, but soft, very soft, with the aim of smoothing everything out, rounding it off. If you were a picture, you would be a watercolour
You love it when the sun shines; and when it does not, you take its place. At work you blow in my nose at times, reminding me of you and everything you stand for: cheerfulness, light-heartedness, warmth, lightness. Walking in the park, the spring green of nature becomes even more intense and beautiful. When we meet a friend, time suddenly flows in the most beautiful way. You please, not only me, for which I am grateful. In your poetry album I would put in as attribute triad clean/fresh/pure. You're a not too loud middle-distance runner. You don't stick, you don't clog, you fade quietly instead. At work, sometimes it makes me sad. But there's a good thing about it: I long for you again and look forward to the evening and the next morning with you.
It is a pity that you are relatively unknown. It's a pity you taste. But be that as it may, you are with me, and you are enjoying the lives of some others. That's how it should be