let’s pretend
you‘d move on
the other way,
unveiling sticky layers one by one,
removing bit by bit,
running barefoot until your feet become soft,
wading through the longest
and hurtfully peaceful night,
advancing in microscopic steps,
casting your way between
complicatedly interwoven branches,
and through heavy waters,
sometimes, you seem like you’ve lost
your breath completely,
or like you’re learning to exhale
fresh air.
you know by now that I might let you
get closer to the source of my voice,
so you wander along the roots of my thinking,
rising hopes,
paused sentences,
you climb over sharp shattered clay,
which stems from the collapsed idea
of a loophole filled with genuine reciprocity.
well, if you keep hurrying inversely,
flying motionless,
if you’re losing yourself twice,
as you follow the tongue-tied song,
and you’re ascending the last iceberg’s highest top,
which lies underneath the visible,
in the wildest corner of the ocean,
you’d get tired from the adventure,
but even more eager to find the price.
where you arrive,
I longed to show you
a meadow of purple lavender
that reaches the horizon
and way beyond,
to where the sun sets forever
and where there is no room for sorrow
or plausible second guessing.
but maybe there’s no blossoming daintiness
for you to find,
maybe you’d fall into a fragile light,
which feels too soothingly warm
and tastes as sweet as honey,
reminding you rudimentarily of this
one blissful moment
when innocent love rested its head gently
on the space between
your collarbone and your shoulder,
exhaling in heartfelt relief.
or maybe
your destination is still only the beginning,
an open space filled
with something you cannot say out loud
because what you found
is that,
or is some,
it might be an emotion
no one has named
or felt

[welcome home.]

Love is a choice

this shall be the last poem I write about
our old love.

I maintain to love you
even when I don’t like being around you anymore,
even when I don’t like you anymore.
I understand now
that this is the mature kind of love,
where it is a true choice.
I know this love endures
and I know it stands on its own.
I loved you on the good days.
I loved you on the bad days.
And I loved you, when it was hard to love you.
I loved you, when you showed your darkest side,
or when I couldn’t bare your company.
And I still love you when I let you go.
And I still love you, when I leave you.
Because I choose to.

you and I together,
we only exist in past tense]


Geräusche verklingen
bei Entfernung,
beim Versinken in mitternachtsblaue Untiefen,
oder beim Einsetzen schwerer Körperklagen,
deren Beruhigung ein Problem ohne logische Lösung bleibt.

Gerufen hat das Herz,
ausgehaucht haben die angefangenen Gedanken.
Gefragt wurde im Flüsterton nach der Liebe,
danach, wo sie hin ist.
Hinüber ist sie.

Nachdem das letzte Wort gesagt,
und die letzten satten Versprechen zurückgegeben wurden,
werden die stumpfen Stimmen stumm
und die Stimmung verstimmt.
Eine lautstarke Stille findet immer mehr Volumen,
überflutet das Zwischendrin in einem Schwall.

Entschuldigungen ersticken im Entstehen,
Chancen lassen sich alle Zeit der Welt,
verkehrte Einsichten verdoppeln sich mehrfach,
eine harte Hoffnungsleere füllt eingebrochene Freiräume,
Abschiedsgrüsse finden keinen passenden Moment,
losgelassen wird nichts, das jemals da war.

[unverbindlich unverbunden]


Elliot Greer – Owed

This house is a ghost townNo life to be foundYet you could destroy meAnd i would still have you aroundIt’s hard to surrenderWhen i’m your defenderBut you changed the rules of engagement, remember?

Look at us nowTied and strung outToo young to be this oldYou broke me downNow i’m done waiting aroundFor the love i am owedOwed.


All this strange behaviour has ruined the flavourI’m leaving this time dearNothing left for me hereThere’s blood in the waterAnd memories of you i can’t clear

Where does it end?

Too far goneYou weren’t the one.

Look at us nowTied and strung outToo young to be this oldYou broke me downNow i’m done waiting aroundFor the love i am owedOwed.

–  Elliot Greer

[those are not my words.
but late at night, I sing them.]









[I sing them after the lullaby, which says:
something in the orange tells me
you’re never coming home.]


Novo Amor- Holland

I wish I could see in the dark.
and I wish I would’ve learned
how to be alone without feeling lonely,
or without missing anyone.

you have no idea, who you are to me.
and who you were.
you were my gravity.
and now I’m flying.
I had no idea that flying feels this burdened,
or that, beneath the sun,
I would run out of air
and rest.

forever restless.
and forever grieving.
and forever robbed of a dream.
and the pain has not stopped for a second.
and it has not become easier
at all.

I need to grant you a life,
where I never appear,
not even as a supporting character,
and where you won’t remember me fondly
because this is not how you see me
or how it ended.

and I need to allow myself
to crush and crumble
from understanding that there is no hope for us,
neither now nor in the future,
and from admitting
that I am still saddened to the bones
as well as utterly heartbroken over us,
and that I will never be whole again.



I‘ll wait

until I meet some one
at the right reflectional pause in our cycles
at the humblest of our seasons.

some one,
who matches my energy
in its vastness and its purity,
in its free will.

some one,
who can never go past his truth,
who shows up for himself
and speaks up for the world.

some one,
who is kind to the roots of his soul,
who is caring to the center of his bones
and gentle at the source of his thoughts.

some one,
who appreciates the deepest depths of darkness and light
and the silence of perfect presence.

some one,
with whom being two-gether
doesn‘t sound like a hypocritical mouthful
or a stoneheavy burden.

some one,
to whom dancing in each others arms
never means to move out of sync with time
or out of a frame that we‘ve painted with white color on canvas.

some one,
with whom it’s easy two be two,
flowstating together,
finding that unison
that never feels
like we are one.



Nicht satt von Liebe,
leergefressen von Liebe.
Aber sie ist es satt,
hungrig danach zu sein,
geliebt zu werden.

Keine dieser Sekunden ist es wert,
ihr so teuer zu sein.
Wie wertlos gesprochene Worte sind,
wenn sie niemand schätzt,
oder zu schätzen weiss.

Im friedlichen Einklang mit sich selbst,
auch wenn sie von der Welt wohl unbefriedigt bleibt.
Wer ist zweifelsfrei zufrieden?
Für solche Spässe hat es hier keinen Platz,
oder für Fairness, oder für einen freien Kampf.

Wo alle sind.
Da spürt sie die greifbare Leere am meisten.
Und da sprechen sie alle im Kanon
und andauernd aneinander vorbei,
dabei ist es doch gar nicht so komplett unmöglich,
ehrlich füreinander da zu sein.

Weil der knausrige Kontrollverlust sie zerfrisst.
Und weil die Zuneigung, die sie nicht bekommt,
eh nie gleich erwidert wird.
Weil sie anderen wertfrei egal ist
und darüber noch nicht einmal streiten mag.
Unbestritten ist ihr Dasein
als Bestandteil des unvollkommenen Ganzen
und ihr Unglauben über das,
was hier im fortschreitenden Zeitablaufen
ohne Anzeichen von Verlustängsten passiert.



I am my home
and it is, what it is.

Ich bin mein Zuhause.
Und es ist, tja…
es ist, wie es ist.


[Wort zum Leben.]

How I unloved you

by The wandering Paddy

I did not unlove you
over night.
I unloved you in bits of pieces
over time.

I grew a new skin
that you could never touch.
A new heart
that you could never break.
And a new soul
that you could never corrupt.

This is how I unloved you.
But with no regrets.

[not my words. but my words.]