End of Year 2019 (December 31, 2019)

I am thankful for another year of beautiful stories, of unique journeys that have taken me to familiar and new places. 

It has been a satisfying journey of rekindling the greatness that unites people through their common realisations, appreciating the refinement and scrutiny that makes someone value what they have; discussing the shortcomings of existence in a place that takes for granted the things for which you believed should be fought; keeping connections which have been threatened by persisting distance; delighting in the beauty of language; witnessing that some things that could go wrong will; perpetuating ever-present mortal desires in the everyday, driving endlessly with going nowhere, and realising the shortcomings of a mundane existence. 

I am glad to have achieved an internal closure that has facilitated sustainability. I have been intrigued by seeing the hidden beauty of small niches in the countryside. I have been fulfilled by being able to sustain a meaningful connection which will last indefinitely. I appreciate the transition that has unfolded. I value the knowledge and perceptions you will always give me. (T)

I am happy to have shared another beautiful year. I am happy with time spent in four countries and seeing some of those places in a new light. I have been immersed by discovering the depths of a faraway land by a false sea where the wind knows no mercy and where the nights are long. I am filled by what has transpired. I am moved by the convolution that has sometimes made it difficult and, at the same time, stronger. (L)

I am delighted to see the fate of the unexpected experiences together. I value the way in which a familiar place can be witnessed in a way that makes it seem even more beautiful than it originally seemed. I have been enchanted by the post-midnight dreamworld. I am engrossed by your intellectual and physical existence for time as I know it. (N)

“The stars are still being beautiful on the nights you cannot see them.”

“Some people don’t deserve the air they breathe”. ––Henrik

“We are simply better.” ––Natalie

“I want everything to end.” ––Lara

“You remind me that things have never changes and should never really” ––Yousef

“It’s underage so of course you like it” ––Lukas

“People like them don’t understand and never will.” ––Niklas

“I don’t have a driver’s license. I prefer to be driven.” ––Julien

“If I would have meant you, I would have said your name.” ––Tom

“The popularity of this world is as transient as it’s glory.”

“Take a moment to breathe the breath of life and realise that everything else does not matter; that the gift of your physiological and psychological balance is the gift of the universe, that tonight and tomorrow belong to you and to your fate, that your ambition is simultaneously precious and worthless, shaping what could be, and what could be in your way on your self-designated path of endless flagellation towards a distant and unattainable place called happiness.”

Another Post-Midnight Dreamworld (December 2, 2019)

The piercing cold of the winter evening bites your cheeks as the wind carries it past you. The natural world is as relentless as it is merciless. Another evening in the hometown that is not your hometown, a place where your heart was first broken and where it still lives.  

The bustling of the Weihnachtsmarkt exudes a late-year enthusiasm into the Altstadt, and the murmur of the nightlife pours into the cobblestoned streets, flooding the place with an alcohol-induced liveliness. The night is still young, and the feelings are still fresh. The mulled wine is sweet and sweetened by the amaretto and his smile.

Your thoughts and time are whizzing, your mind is still drenched in the wine from the flight with which you arrived several hours prior. Your speech and excitement are fizzing, your hype inflated by the bubbles of the champagne you had in the room earlier. Your effervescence prevents you from sinking into the beauty of the moment or into the enchantment of his company. 

The evening passes quickly into night as impatiently as the artificial lights that try to penetrate it. In the restaurant and in the bar, he plunges into the oblivion with you, becoming your accompaniment in the stupor. Your consciousnesses run away with the passing time and at some point, are returned to you when the unforgiving cold stabs you as you go outside.

The wind carries the cold past you and steals your oblivion away. The mercilessness of the winter is sobering. You hurry with him over the cobblestoned street, away from the flooding nightlife: that is, the life that tries to overcome the night. The dark intensity is stunning and enveloping. It consumes you almost as much as the idea of him.

The Rheinuferpromenade and the stories which you have created with her are disturbed and reincarnated by you trampling over their remnants that lie along the riverside. The nights of sitting on benches and seeing the lights of the city reflected over the scintillating water, where you many years ago were asked to imagine sitting with someone you truly loved, the year when you did that, and the years you have spent nights with friends from whom you are now distant.

…

You are hit by the warmth of the grand hotel that has been your home away from home for the last 5 years. The arrogance of the indoors is cold and warm when contrasted by the freezing outside.

His beautiful physical form is a pleasure to your eyes and your touch. Seeing and hearing him and his instrument and the harmony that is their totality submerges you in the performance and reignites your lost love of real music. His expression and perception make you think again. His being reminds you of the things you missed so much. His intellect makes you believe that you are so different yet so similar.

Time is always running faster when you are with him, but you remain nonchalant and unperturbed because the world stands still when you are in his company. Your bodies and your thoughts are untouchable in the post-midnight dreamland above the Königsallee. You are a little dazed by the bottle of champagne that sits on the soft tablecloth of the room service trolley as it watches your infatuated mind trying to open his

You have persisted with him into the lateness of the night into which even the nightlife outside has begun to die. The music spills quietly in the background, some of is absorbed by the soft carpet. You sit at the edge of the luxurious bed which sinks at the weight of your craving. You kiss him slowly and innocently as though he was your first. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull his chest towards yours so you can almost feel his heartbeat against yours. You want for this moment to last forever and if ever had an end you would want it to be with him in your arms.

The matrimony of the depth of his soul and the allure of his form foster your mesmerisation in his very existence. These enchanting episodes drown you in a euphoria that only leaves you wanting more. You try to float on the surface of your feelings so that you do not sink into the blindness of the non-reality where you always desire something greater. You realise that regardless of your and his fate, the realisation that there was once something special means it always will be special in some way, much like how stars are still being beautiful on the nights you cannot see them.