Gary Schwarzinger

The new attack is too strong, I get it this morning about 9 when I have to rush out of math to the WC. My case is getting as desprate as can be, I need to provide my body with what it needs, eating!
So in the lunch break I try it with a little salad anda very very small loaf of bread. I could never come up with the idea that what used to be my all time favorite, what I could eat as much as possible at any possible time, would be so hard to chew and swallow and could taste so...
Every time I looked at my fork, and I told myself: "You have to eat it Gary, you must survive!"
in the end, some parts of the salad and half of the bread was left, but the next time I went to the WC, I knew that the mission was accomplished for today, regardless of the uncomfprtable nauscious feeling I had in my stomach. The good thing is, I look and sound healthy; not that I should remember how I used to lookd before, but from the expression on others' faces, I assume that I shall look ok, and since my mother has not mentioned anything about my voice today, I again assume that I shall sound ok as well.

I just take out everything possible and crawl under my blanket when I come back. I can't get her out of my head no matter what. I ask myself the fatal question of wether I need her or I want her: do I want her because I need her or do I need her for I want her so badly?
I think, I think intensively about my last encounters with her and about what I would wish myself. I do schwarzingerly want her, most of my real needs in my life have been things I have wanted bad enough.
Yes, I want her.
I want to run my fingers in her now short cut pink died hair;
want to stare into her eyes.;
want to hold her in my arms as close as can be, so that there would stay, nothing, nothing, nothing at all between us;
want to listen to her telling me every possible kind of stories of her daily life;
want to watch her as she is trying to solve a physics problem she believes could be solved much easier than it is said;
want to smell her cooking;
want to listen to her when she talks passionately about the world;
want to see that sparkle in her eyes when she is plotting something in her mind;
want to hear her soft voice when she is trying to tempt me with a new idea and I know I would most probably be following her no matter where she takes me, just for I love to be tempted by her, even if it concerns bying a new cd you have no clue about;
want to have a serious talk with her about something unserious like cheese or the color of a new commercial banner;
want to feel the weigh of her head on my shoulder;
want to go shoping with her, even when all we need would be a normal pen;
want to enjoy her compliments when I am cooking for both of us;
want to dance with her with closed eyes so that none of us could mention the catastrophy we perform as two human bodies;
want to watch her as she drinks something whose taste she enjoys;
want to hold her hand in silence;
want to be the first reader of her stories and have her read all mines first;
want to listen to her telling jokes;
want to hear her laughter, all different kinds of it;
want to sing with her all possible songs we might both have in mind and make fun of how we might or might not be able to get the melody right;
want to admire trees with her;
want to take a walk with her, under the mellow spring rain, holding each other tight;
want to sing my first song to her, the one I wrote, the night she was leaving for Berlin;
want to hug her for more than 5 minutes;
I still want to live in with her someday;
I do want to be her best friend forever.

Oh how I long to cry along with her, not how we did two years ago on th e phone, but really face to face.