A nightmarish morning
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A nightmarish morning

I sent a message. I’m quite proud of my message. I think I did well, putting my feelings away and empathising with Alberto, best I could – given my partiality. But Abril turning up is definitely something (better) not to be ignored & I am certain Alberto feels the world for her – however much that might hurt me. She was there first. She’s the one that drives him crazy – she’s got the power – & I can be lucky I still have his confidence. Maybe and quite possibly my hurt is in my imagination – a danger to my illusions & a threat to my creativity. How I long to feel happily ecstatic and how easily everything of unguarded feeling can be washed away, never to be retrieved.

A nightmarish morning. How can this be so exciting for me? If I ever got with Alberto, it would never be boring. He has (so many strong) feelings. He has a real life, an emotional life. I love his writing. It’s almost bullet point-like. I love his swearing. It shouldn’t be too much. He just does it in the appropriate places. He’s feeling. I’m laughing from joy and life. I feel so alive. He makes me alive. He distils to the essential what is life. It’s all so crazy, like fate intervening.

One day I will visit Alberto in his town, stepping off the train from a place I’ve been in full elegance with a white coat and a big hat & elegant shoes (hopefully not too impractical & unhealthy). My clothes will be what I wore at a function in Vienna. I’m dropping by for the night. I am what I am and I can’t hide my elegance. I look confused, orienting myself on the platform. Alberto is skipping down the stairs? I start running. I can’t hold. A smile spreads on my face. I can’t contain it, nor do I want to nor does it cross my mind to do so. I swing in his arms, he whirls me around. He had to do something to absorb my run or I would have knocked him over. It’s two friends meeting. He doesn’t recognise me. I look so different. He’s wonderful as always. Concerned by reality but never without a laugh. He’s what I need. He’s what I long for. I feel so wonderful. Who cares about the hat? Who cares about the white clothes and the fine shoes? I could be wearing a potato sack & still be smiling this hard.

The next time I call him is from a hotel room, high up over the sea, perfect view. What do I care? I lie on the floor, red carpet, I fall on the bed. I lie in the sun. I look at the sky. I tell Alberto everything. I am excited. It doesn’t hurt. There’s so much to tell – finally news. This is what I see. I won’t talk to him until I’m lying on that red carpet, it’s almost magenta, certainly dark – not dramatic. Everything is happy. I have my freedom. I have my time. I have my space. Everyone is friendly to me. I have myself – in peace – and that is the most important.

Why do I feel I have to proclaim results? That it’s important to reach a goal before being happy? I wish I could be happy without judgement. Is it really important to sort out the life to live, to be in enjoyment, to share the moment? Can I only tell of successes or is it enough to be? What are the expectations & can I break them? What happens when I do? Will I be punished? Is that possible? And in what way?

Can I be myself? Will you allow me that? What if I told you how I love you – would it break everything? I could be too much and it could never be enough. It could hurt & it would make me feel. It could be everything & at the same time it’s “nothing”. Nothing of category but everything of feeling. How I like to feel.

You’re the only one I trust coming back running from bulls.
You are crazy & I love it. Determined & I can’t do anything. You jump on a bus like you would go anywhere. I’m writing pages of rages.
I will not empathise with this decision. I have to be opposed and I have to be angry. At no point seem I to have fear of your dying. I’m free of fear.
I don’t trust you to die. I can’t imagine the apocalypse. I can’t imagine the impossible. Thank God I’m only in rage.
I can write every word about how stupid you are to take such a risk on yourself. I can destroy any reasonable case made for your foolish actions. I cannot stop you only with my feelings.
You are a separate human with a separate head that is all too stubborn and all too independent.
All I can do is air my frustration.

When you come back, you have to run after me & I don’t care that you ran from the bulls, for I’ll only stop when I break down. And you yell behind me “I ran from a fucking herd of bulls. Hannah, stop! I can’t go any further”.
I have no mercy with an idiot. You say later, it was harder running after me than it was running from the bulls. I doubt that the danger compares. Only when my turmoil forces me down, do I fall in the sand where you find my weeping like a child from exhaustion. There’s nothing to be said to a spent individual and in my view I am way more spent than you. But with you my selfish side comes out more than with anyone. I can’t help it, you make me so real. You allow me to feel.

It seems like you hopped on a bus & you hopped on a bus again. You went & you came back. I still can’t believe it. You’re the only one I trust to be so fucking silly.

How can I know that you would come back? If I told you about this you would not believe me.

Copyright Hannah Knaack-Völker
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