Time, only Time - Part 3

“And then I smell her whenever she’s near, now that’s crazy, waaaaaaaaay crazy” he said, half troubled, half desperate.
She was actually his mother’s cousin, but about his age and the closest friend he had ever come to know in his life. Over time they had both become secret partners in each other’s misfortune and happiness. It had been about 8 years ago when they promised each other - after a long lasting series of mistakes they made, dumbness they committed and problems each went through - that they would always be open to each other and tell the other one whatever bothers them. This brought them closer and made them put the foolish pride and shame away while the two were alone on their own.
She patted slightly on his head ”You have to let it go. Give up pretending, you are in it dear.”
“In it?” he asked. He considering stared at the wall “don’t suppose so” he said, “no. No, no. No way! Not me, not now, not yet.” He tried to avoid his voice from rising, yet he could not completely hide his excitement.
“Why not then? May I ask what you are so afraid of?” She asked. He turned his head and looked directly at her. He knew very well that he looked and sounded obviously younger than his age and not that mature, when talking to her, but due the very special confidence they had developed in each other - or maybe had preferred to develop - it did not bother him at all. “Well of her of course. She, she’s not there the way I wish her to be. She’s holding back all the time, she drives me mad, se drives me sad, she drives me hopeless, she makes me feel cold and lonely every day I spent without her in it. I, I really can’t take it. It is already hard enough to take. You see, I can not have her partially, I want all of her, all together, in one piece.”
“Aaaaand…” she was saying, interrupted by him “oh no, not those ands again. I hate them, I can’t stand them. No and. She is terribly unfair with me. Maybe she knows it… but yet she is unjust, I do not deserve this, no and.” he was already panting in excitement.
“And,” she went on, a certain ignorance to his excitement in her voice, “would you be giving her all of you in one? Do not answer me with a quick reckless yes.”
He paused with his open mouth for some seconds and then said “well, much more than her anyway. Please do let me finish this,” he said quickly to make her listen, “I, I even sometimes feel disrespected by how she … neglects me? I know neglect’s not the word but you already know what I mean… how I have to wait days and days for a single answer or a message from her. She never says know, she just puts every thing off a hundred times or forgets 10 days in a row to call back or, or what so ever. You know I can really not take such a long process.”
She finally lost patience, as he knew very well she would - maybe that was one attractive aspect of their conversations, he thought - “so put an end to it. I am telling you as clearly as it gets, you are right. You do not deserve it, put an end to it.”
A shadow of sorrow darkened his face “I know she gives me what she’s not giving any one else.” He sighed, swallowed, blinked twice, looked back at the wall and in a deep voice he said “The time we spend together is so magically wonderful, so unique, but then the time I spend waiting for this time is so horribly cursed.” the memory of all the times he mentioned was to be obviously seen on his face. The impression in his eyes seemed like a film playing back all the times he had spent with her during the past six months.
“Honest?” she asked. He nodded, “Honest.” he whispered, the film still playing in his eyes gazing at the wall now, the way one would stare at a screen.
“You ran after someone who does not want you enough. You love her and you deserve much better, but she does want you enough. she does not want you enough for what you deserve because of the love you’re giving her.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed again. She could feel his slight trembling. “I really love her scent whenever she’s close.” he said.

Time, only Time - Part 2

With the most peaceful smile of the world on his face he poured the champagne gently in both glasses. There was no music on yet and both of them stared quietly at the filling glass. The silence was as pure as it could be.
He thought for a moment, they could have as well been in love and nothing would change: she would still be sitting right there, he would still be pouring champagne in silence, they would still both stare at the glass and wait till they both had taken a sit with their glasses in the hand, they would still propose a toast the way they always did, she would still stay over for the night, they would still stay up drinking and chatting until the dawn broke out, she would still stay in bed till late while he would have problems sleeping, he would still watch her silently in her sleep, she would still mention that he was not sleeping. They would still get out of bed late for lunch…
He asked himself, what he was looking for, what did he really want from this woman?
There was a lot to come up to.
He was clearly attracted to this woman, to this very special one and this attraction was also physical. He did not care how pretty, good looking, beautiful or sexy she looked, to him, she was simply the biggest possible attraction. Everything about her body was the demonstrative answer of the gods to his expectations or somehow to his prayers, he formulated it to himself. He did not like perfect bodies, for they were too unreal to him, as if no one really lived in them. Sometimes he thought he did not like them because he himself was too lazy to have a perfect body, but that was not really the case; he liked bodies with traces of life on them; bodies, on which signs of life, time and imperfection of mankind were to be detected.
To him, her body was the most attractive feminine body; but maybe because he has never thought about any other body as much as he did about this one. This was not because he had been shy with woman before, on the contrary; he had had three serous relationships, had even fallen in love two and a half times before, had even got married in one of the cases which had brought him three beautiful years of friendship and cherishment, one year of altering between ignorance, love and misunderstandings and two years of extreme fights, the last passed in extreme hatred.
He did not hate her anymore, she had just been unable to understand his life. She was trying to sculpt her life on his all the time, instead of trying to live both. He had really loved her, but never felt secured in this love. It was not that he was afraid she might leave him any day; it was insecurity of another kind. With her, he never knew what was right or wrong. No matter what he tried to do, it always came out with a mistake, she always had a point to make. He had always said something wrong r had done it the wrong way, his intentions had always been the last which mattered. It had never been about what had been better to have done, but always about what he should not had done or what had been absolutely out of question to do or what had ashamed her to death. He had never felt that she had had any interests of teaching him something or helping him for the better, although she might have actually had. He had in fact loved her family, he still did, but back then he had done anything but to visit her family or invite them over. In case, then he would have to deal with hours of fear and insecurity. All what he said was wrong to her, all what he did out of respect and impolite. What he had always preferred to do was to go visit them or to invite them when she was on a long journey. That had always proven to be pleasant.
As to her friends, it had been thousand times worse. After a long day of arguing with his boss, sitting in a wonderful café relaxing with some really nice people around him, he had always tried to keep his mouth shut and tell himself that he was there on his own, which was since the third year, when he had had enough experience to how he could have never behave himself the right way. Three of these people had later on become his own friends, but…
With great satisfactory he paused his flashbacks to recognize that they were both already in a conversation. How come it was so easy with her? He rarely made second thoughts when he wanted to tell her something or make a suggestion or plan something they would both do yet he could seldom do any wrong. And if, they both knew he did not really mean it. It was the same with her, even the times he felt she was being unjust or wrong to him, he knew her intentions were pure and he could swear that she would do something in the next three days to compensate. He could guess the reason but he did not want to go any further than just guessing. For then he would make sure that she was really the one he had always been searching for in his dreams for twelve years - and deep inside, even though trying his best to ignore, he knew she was - and then he was to have her, to make her his and to be hers for all eternity which was for the time being not quite right.
She wanted him somehow, he could see it in her eyes right now and in the way she was sitting right in front of him and when he thought about it, he could also remember thousands of times when she cherished him like no one else. It felt as if she exactly knew what he needed or wanted. So many times she had said something which amazed him to death, for they were exactly the words he would have said with the difference that she was not supposed to know any of it. In fact, he strongly believed that had it not been for her ex boyfriend they would have already come together for all eternity long ago, even though they knew each other only for six months.
The jerk, he thought. How could he ever treat this woman the way he had?
He knew the story from her, he knew this story from lots of other women. It always sounded new, it always hurt. And it hurt a whole lot more when it concerned a woman you knew and you loved. But what she did not know was that her side of the story was not the only one he knew. He had to find that bastard, he had to listen to what he had to say in order to be able to make him pay for it without conscious problems.
Well he had; and she did not know anything of it.
The jerk had told the story as if it had been a casual romance story in which every thing ends after some certain time and the wiser one is to prove to the irrational one that every thing has to come to an end and that there is no possible future left. Well in such a situation no one would really confess what a jerk one had been in the past, for every minus point would cause one just more pain. He remembered, not unpleasantly, how this jerk had suffered and how he had unwillingly shouted every word out.
He asked for it, he thought. Was he really sick as the jerk had told him times and times again? He did not know; and even if he was, these people had made him sick, he tried to relieve himself. The point was that, deep inside, he knew why he needed punish - or somehow torture - this guy. It was not to defend the woman in the world, which he once in a while really did, neither to give him what he deserved in order to have somehow foolishly protected the woman he admired so much. It was none. Deep inside he knew he had a much more selfish reason for doing so. He was afraid, afraid of loosing her. He could put up with the fact that they were not really “together” as long as he made sure she would not be “together” with anyone else either. He could not even stand the idea, it drove him to madness just to think about her being in another man’s arms. He had felt unsafe as long as he knew the “ex” might come back to her some day some time. He knew she would not want to have him back, he knew that jerk did not really know how to treasure this woman and that he would not come to apologize or to beg to her to light his life up again. He also knew how irrational and silly it was of him to have such fear and to find the poor guy and to scare and torment him the way he had, he just could not help it. Maybe he was really sick but he could not help it. The idea of losing her to another man was way beyond his tolerance.
The champagne was over and they both looked exhausted and sleepy.
“I’d get you a towel, should you want to use the bath.” he told her.
She just nodded. He put his glass down and got up feeling a childish pride.
While she was in the bathroom, he carefully, making sure she would not surprise him, smelled her jacket. He just loved her scent.

just another one

I know I should have written this way sooner, maybe on March 8th or on mother's day, but better late than never. This is a tribute to all the women in this world, who are still women, despite what they have gone through, being abused (physically as well as emotionally), raped, enslaved, beaten and left alone.

it awfully hurts

something tears you up from inside

but you are still just another one

just another woman

who has been left alone on her own

lonely and injured

violated and insulted

you are feeling cold

you have nothing left in this world

and the worst is

that everything inside you has also been demolished

and the silence around suffocates you

slowly, painfully and violently but silently

the whole world keeps silent

while everything in you cries, shouts and roars

and you know - even if this knowledge does not help at all -

that you are just another woman

nur noch eine andere

es tut schrecklick weh

du wirst vom Innen zerrießen

trotzdem bist du einfach nur eine andere

nur noch eine andere Frau

die alleine auf sich gelassen wurde

einsam und verletzt

gewaltigt und erniedrigt

es ist dir kalt

dir ist nichts auf dieser Welt geblieben

und am aller schlimmsten

ist alles in dir auch zerstört

und die Stille um dich herum erstickt dich

langsam, schmerzhaft, brutal, aber still

die ganze Welt bleibt still

während in dir alles schreit und brüllt

und du weißt - auch wenn dieses Wissen dir nicht hilft -

dass du nur noch eine andere Frau bist

Time, only Time - part1

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again and looked at the photo maximized on his desktop. Half scared half troubled he minimized the photo in a rush and with a quiet sigh of regret, then he switched back to the other window on his desktop and continued working on the plan.
This was not happening, this was not supposed to happen, not to him, not now, no he could not afford such distraction, one which might only end in him losing every thing he had for the time; which was not his life, but - he took another stolen glance at the photo - her!
Yes, she was all which lit up his days and painted them as colorfully as possible. With her, he has been giving and getting a lot, something he’d never experienced before. Every second to pass with her or to think about her was filled with this giving and getting. It felt as if they had this indescribable urge for equilibrium, to become balanced with each other. When he thought about it visually, it felt as if they have been too eager to become one. Had he been a woman he could claim to be already pregnant with her, that much of her he was already carrying in him and he knew that was odd. It was not usual of a man to be able to contain so much of woman, or maybe he just didn’t know much about men and women and how much of each other they could bear. Maybe he was surrounded with false and fake - if not wrong - examples.
He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. He had to stop thinking about her, he had to stop drugging himself up with the prettiest photo of the world on his desktop. He tried to convince himself to closing the window with the argument that this photo was taken when they did not eve know each other. It was in vane. The photo was still as much of her as could be expected on a collection of pixels. And it looked too damn pretty. He had never paid any attention to her beauty, he was somehow unaware of it, for every time he was in her presence or thinking about her, he was so drawn away by every thing else that he had no time left to think or remark how she looked like. But now, this photo - now that he had a chance to forbidden himself to look at it - was way pretty. Yes, it WAS her.
He had to go back to his work, this was just too important to be neglected, it was fatal, he kept telling himself. He turned the music up to turn his thoughts down and help him concentrate, yet he realized to his misfortune that this was her music and not his.
Why should he be listening to her music when he had such great collection of his own ? Was he being possessed by anything which would eventually lead to her? What was he trying to achieve? Why was he doing this to himself.
He had to go back to work. This was getting him nowhere. As he started working he found out that he was doing the two parallel: completing the complicated plan and thinking about her. To his surprise, the former was way easier than the second one and the risk of any possible mistake he would make was way lower and the consequences les dangerous.
He could hear his boss’s voice telling him that every second he miscalculated would cost him his men which were not easily replaced. He felt the desire to make a mistake, a great one. Grinning at the idea just like a child who’s intending a malice which he knows is strictly forbidden he changed some of the joints and laughed at the idea of what would be coming out.
He thought he’d give a million to anyone who could hold such a junk together and not collapse or explode. With a satisfied smile he saved it in a private folder and went back to seriously working. How did he get here? How had he become who he was now? Why did he want such a job in the first place? It was not what you’d find in the yellow pages, and no job agency would tell you that you are specifically qualified for a career as … he thought what he could call himself. It was hard to find a word for it. He worked together with fine and compatible technicians and engineers, doctors and psychologists, economists and sociologists and with crazy and greedy politicians and world leaders.
His job was actually to help use the three other groups in favor of the last one to abuse the rest of the world. How did he ever get there? All he ever wished upon was to be a swimmer. He was actually not a bad swimmer, but never got to fulfill his wish. At this age, he knew that his dream was long gone, even though he swam better than some certain professional swimmers. With the experience he had gained at his job, he knew that such things were not about skills, that it was much more about other factors which have very little to do with swimming itself. Now he was considering which was really harder to accomplish, becoming a professional swimmer or excelling at his profession. The answer was not clear, neither was it simple as yes or no. Maybe being successful at his job - since he could not afford the consequences of failure, he had no other way than success - was to great extent due to his disappointment with having given up his greatest - and maybe only - dream.
Or maybe it was the naïve wish that he might someday get to teach them a lesson, yes he was committing a typical mistake in his family. Once he thought it was a matter of survival but it was mostly the incapability of recognizing that nothing was to be changed this way. They still went on trying what was tried before, each and every one of them believed to have found a new way and they went on making the same old mistakes again and again and again and eventually there was a greater threat with every new day for they were deeper involved in the shit.
Yes, he was involved, he knew it very well. He has been doing this for too long to try to deny it. All these years he had tried to be a hidden weapon against them rather than the master brain to fulfill their intentions, but he was not fooling himself, he was really involved.
Hopelessly he took another look - and not a glance - at the photo: he was involved in both, in his job and in… in this enchanting woman. He was truly enchanted by her and it was time he had admitted it. Maybe he was not in love yet, and he was doing his best not to fall, but he was enchanted with all her charms. He knew he knew her better than lots of those who knew her already since ages, he knew her from inside and still he felt it was not close enough. No, it was not enough, he wanted to get to know her in each and every possible way.
Sometimes he believed that he knew her much more from his hopeless dreams, that he had known her years before he found out that she did really exist. How important this might have been over the time they had known each other, he did not know and maybe he did not care to know. This was really not the issue for him at the moment.
What really mattered was that he completely enjoyed being enchanted by her, a feeling he had never known before; even if he had been in love before, even if he had had women before, he has never ever been enchanted by a woman and she did it so easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes he got the impression that this was working both ways, that she was as much enchanted with him as he was with her, and sometimes he felt himself as her desperate victim. And she never gave him any sign so that he might be able to decide which way it really was.
Staring at her photo he felt like crying. It was already bizarre staring at her photo all day long, but the desire he had to burst into crying was really scary. He tried his best, he felt his eyes getting pleasantly wet, but he could not. He needed the presence of a real good friend to be able to work this out. Maybe it was more about collapsing in arms of a good friend and crying his misfortune out into streming tears. He did not really see it as a misfortune, in face, it was one of the most amazing things he had ever had in his life. Yet he could not get along with the insecurity of not knowing how she felt and how she thought of all this.
But has he not been insecure ever since he could remember? Why was this so different? Has he not got used to feeling insecure? Why should this be working any differently? Why could he not put up his defenses as he had learned through times? What was wrong with this one this time? The fact was that he felt really secure and safe when he was spending time with her, the kind of security no one had ever provided him with - or maybe could not have - even his parents who loved him so much.
He sipped his whisky to get back to work. Why was he drinking whisky? He hated whisky, everyone knew that. He sipped it again to make sure he really hated it and it had not been something he might have made up one day because of any foolish or lifesaving reason. Yes, he did really hate whisky, it was no joke, no pretension. He swallowed the rest as fast as possible in order to avoid the disgusting taste. He automatically filled the glass again, adding as many ice cubes as possible. Sitting at his computer again he looked at the glass thoughtfully. Has he always been drinking whisky while working or was it just this time? He could not remember. It stroke him hard in his stomach. What else was he doing without even mentioning which he could hardly bare ? What kind of a life was he living? How much of it was really his? Up to what extent was he really aware of all what he was doing? How much of it was intentionall? How much of it planned? How much of it was due to his weekness to stand a higher force? A not necessarily stronger one…
He drank with disgust, closed the window with her photo and told himself he had to stick to work, argumenting that such thoughts were of no use at the moment.

Far Far Away

Sitting here on one of the banks just like every other normal student in college I fall deep down in my own thoughts. I suddenly can not remember any more what might have happened and hw I was brought to where I am sitting right now. For a while I do not really remember what brought me here so far away from home.
But then suddenly home appears even further to me. It’s not the distance or feeling homesick or anything of the kind, it’s the general idea of a placed possibly called home which seems so far from me and my life, that I can not believe to have a home; further more, for a moment I can’t take that there might be such thing anywhere in this world.
Then I recall the memories I have of home, they all seem just too far from me. I recall my family, what seems just further. I try to picture friends, streets, life, studying, music, dance, flight and every bit of any language I’ve ever known; but that’s all just too far away.
Everything new I want to remember makes the general image look even further and more unbelievable than before.
In a lousy attempt I try to recall me, which suddenly appears such an indescribably far vision of a world which can not even exist in one’s fantasy. Yes, I do also appear as far as everything else and maybe even worse.
I seem unreal, my life seems unreal, all the places I have ever been to seem unreal, the voices and the songs I used to listen to everyday seem unreal, colors seem unreal, cloths are unreal, you seem unreal and far as well as everything else; my hands, your hand, my smile, your smile, all we ever did is as far as it gets. I can not figure anything out any more.
Then suddenly, like a radio station turned up I hear the professor’s voice. Strangely I recognize what he’s talking about. He somehow brings me back to the moment, to a place of which I am no more sure but yet I can realize what I am about to be doing in this cozy little weird looking room, which for the next moments becomes the only reality of my life.

der Mythos

Ein Mythos: einer, den alle lesen wollen und keiner schreiben will.
Schon wenn der Wunsch oder die Lust in ihm besteht, einen nächsten Schritt zu tun, schauen alle zu und wendet jeder ihm seinen Blick zu. Trotzdem fällt es keinem ein, dass er vielleicht auch mal bei diesem nächsten Schritt wenn nicht mitmachen wenigstens dabei sein kann. Nein, jeden Schritt macht er allein, ganz allein, mutterseelenallein.
Sobald er eine Pause macht, um vielleicht Luft zu holen oder sich mal auszuruhen oder vielleicht nachzudenken, wird er von allen umgeben, die genauer wissen wollen, die es sich von ihm erklären lassen, wie er es noch mal geschafft hat; entweder den Schritt zu vervollständigen oder wieder mal einsam und verletzt durchzuhalten und zurechtzukommen.
Sie hören ihm begeistert zu und schauen ihn dabei fasziniert an. Er weiß jedoch, dass, sobald es um den nächsten Schritt, den nächsten Kampf oder die nächste Herausforderung geht, sie sich von ihm so fern wie möglich halten. So können sie viel besser zusehen, was er unternimmt und was ihm geschieht.
Unter ihnen gibt es diejenigen, die ganz fest an ihn glauben; diejenigen, deren einzig gebliebene Hoffnung er ist; diejenigen, deren Herz zum Rhythmus seiner Schritten schlägt. Es gibt diejenigen, die ihn keinen einzigen Moment vergessen und diejenigen, die ihn herzlich lieben, für alle Ewigkeiten, auch wenn diese Erinnerung und diese Liebe sich nicht bemerken lassen.
Es gibt sogar diejenigen, denen sein Schmerz und seine Leiden weh tun. Sie sind es, die jeden einzelnen seiner Schritte vom Anfang bis Ende verfolgen und im Herzen bewahren; diejenigen, die jedes Mal, wenn sein Fuß unsicher zittert und sein Wille zweifelt, ihm die Kraft ihres Gebetes und Ihrer Wünsche von der ferne schenken.
In Zahl sind sie weniger als fünf - Anzahl der Finger jener Hand, die er von seinem Schwert nicht zu trennen wagt - , trotzdem sind sie die einzigen, die von den Gedanken betroffen sind, ihm mal die Hand zu reichen, bevor er stürzt; oder mal neben ihm zu gehen, wenn er so atemlos, verwundet und einsam seinen Weg zum nächsten Kampf, zur nächsten Herausförderung gehen muss.
Sie werden jedoch jedes mal von anderen zurückgehalten, denn alle wissen, dass ein Mythos seine Last alleine tragen muss.
Sie interessiert es nicht, was er alles zum Erzählen und zum Geben hat. Sie wollen nicht wissen, dass er sich nach Gesellschaft sehnt. Niemand will sich die Mühe geben, einen Mythos zu begleiten, während es Menschen gibt, unter denen das Leben sicherer, stabiler und einfacher läuft.
An einen Mythos wird geglaubt, er wird bewundert und erstaunt weiter erzählt, erlebt aber?