Should you come by, Dietrich

How many men are there still on earth who know how to dream like you did?

I don't know, how many of them can stand in front of me and still say 'No' instead of admiration

I don't know behind how many of those 'No'es then there would lie a far off dream

I wonder if any of them could say so much of 'me' in one simple 'No'

No to my childish dreams, to my carefree games, no to danger, to deception, to the temptation of careless wanderings...

I wonder, if one day I search all Land and look all over Time

Will there still be anyone with the craving you had for holding my hand?

Anyone who'd already know my scent from afar?

I wonder how many men still walk this earth,

with eyes which can see the ways yours did...

Why did none of them bear my eyes then?

Why then, none of them stands in front of me, even from behind the curtains?

Why can't I hear any of them neither laugh nor cry on the phone?

Why are all their tricks either lecherous or so deadly empty?

Why is their honesty so much falser than all your lies?

Why is their truth not keeping up with the illusion of you?

Why does time not affect you yet?

Why can't my rage fade the look in your eyes I never saw?

Why can't the tears I never cried and the cries I never shouted drop your far away hands down?

Still, when I secretly miss you and let our forbidden memories drag me away,

and when I think of all those days we weren't supposed to be, all that time you should not have existed,

and sometimes, when I am tempted to even forgive you like you asked me to, to even forgive you from the least explored depths of my heart;

When all my regrets decrease to only once calling your name,

and your voice echoes again in my head,

The voice calling my name, closer than any other man can make it sound,

Then I just forget the price demanded for being the woman in one of the most beautiful love stories on earth.

A Pair of Eyes and a Smile

Tell, what would you do, if you were me? 

No, not walking in my shoes, but if once - only once - you would see in me, what I have been seeing in you all this time; what would you do then? How would you keep silent and watch?

Or would you go wild again, like when you felt me seeing you for the first time?

Tell me, how would you bear knowing and not saying a word?

The thin Line

There is a thin line between... all!

Thin lines are everywhere, 

everything I see in only divided from everything else by thin lines, 

so much I sometimes even fail to recognize 

where I start and where I end.

But I know an incredibly thick line

separating my dreams from your hands,

made out of many many thin lines.

Lost

I don't know who you are but I know very well that look of yours. I have lived with it longer than anyone can imagine. Peculiar, all what a mere human heart can achieve in the chaos of their cities. 

I fail to see the distance, I fail to see the barriers, I fail to see the borders and I fail to comprehend that at this point, my best move will be to give up. Something in my hands pushes me forward, thrives me towards a most dangerous desire, which I have never known before. Something in my hands is getting stronger than all which hold my legs back from moving. When the time comes, should the hindrance not give in, I am afraid the only option would be to leave these legs behind. What would keep me going? I can not know yet. But I have put all my faith in my hands and when the time finally comes, I believe the answer would be of least importance...

I don't know what you are, but something within me can not help but to think it knows very well every bit of your existence, every ounce of your being. Something deep within me, where I can not reach, keeps clinging to an unhealthy urge. 

Something on back weights heavy these days, much too heavy than any burden to be carried. When the day finally comes, only then I can make sure whether or not my suspicion has been right; that is, if I have been growing wings all this time...

Dresdner Heide

Wenn Wiedergeburt ein realistischer Begriff sein soll, dann erst richtig hier, unter diesen Bäumen, zum 2. August jedes einzelnen Jahres, werde ich wieder geboren. 

Was für einen Unterschied sollen 25 Jahre oder 6000km schaffen, wenn ich den Geruch der nassen Erde spüren darf, oder wenn die sanften Regentropfen von den frisch gewaschenen Blättern meine Haut herunter fließen? Erst wenn die Luft hier meine Nase füllt, mit dem leichten Geruch vom heiteren Baumrinde- und Blätterlaub, die großzügig diesen Boden bedecken, weiß ich Bescheid, dass ich lebe. Ich weiß dann Bescheid, dass die Antworte auf meine Existenz hier liegen, unter diesen Bäumen, die mich jedes Mal aufs neue willkommen zu heißen wissen. 

Ich erinnere mich klar an ihre Stimmen, als ich das erste Mal hier war. Wer von uns allen beruhigter und getrösteter war darüber, dass ich endlich meinen Weg nach Hause gefunden hatte, wer von uns lauter und in größerer Euphorie gesungen hat oder wer wen schrecklicher vermisste, kann ich bis heute noch nicht sagen. Wie könnte ich überhaupt Stimmen vergessen, die mich all die ganzen Jahre zu sich riefen und deren Ruf ich heute noch deutlich hören kann? Stimmen, die mich in der Heide stets begleiten und schließlich Stimmen, vertrauter und bekannter als kaum eine andere...

So lasst mich wieder in die Heide, lasst mich zur Prießnitz, denn erst durch den sanften Fluss dieses Wassers kann ich gereinigt werden von allem Last und Schmutz der Menschenwelt, denn erst mitten drin, mit den beiden Menschenfüßen in ihrem sandigen Boden gesteckt, in der Strömung dieses Baches weiß ich Bescheid, dass das, was meine Hände fassen, existiert. Erst hier im Einklang mit der Gesamtheit dieses Waldes, erst in Berührung mit der Prießnitz wird es mir klar, dass ich geboren bin.

*Die Bilder habe ich im März aufgenommen, deswegen ist es noch nicht so grün und dicht, wie um die Jahreszeit.