Friday, 23 June 2017


Somehow, I've found myself wandering into a din for old men which smells as run down as the ages of those who frequent this establishment. The interior though, reminiscent of an old ship and marine fantasies, remind me of my similarly furnished Sims bungalow. Nodding to the music here as old men whistle along to the tune, why does my mood run along the same wavelength with that of retired German men? Ah, the age of my soul cannot be saved.

Menus displayed outside the restaurant, written in especially big font, is one way to capture the curiosity of a passing tourist. There, you've just earned yourself 12 Euros.

If ever, one would like to open a German restaurant, all they need would be meat, potatoes, and beer. Germans are walking sacks of alcohol infused Bratkartoffeln.

On the other hand, their bread is magnificent. Coming from an Asian who despises bread and would rather starve than be forced to receive bread out of sheer hunger, the quality of German pastry is truly worthy of praise, like their cars. Overall, their attention to detail when it comes to baking and making cars attributes them with the quality of good kitchen slaves. But of course, the air of entitlement about each and every one of their heads would suffocate even Pride reincarnated.

It is my opinion that German men are more interested in cars and potatoes than they are in women. Either that or they just drive very nice cars, alone. Often there'd be old couples in eye-turning sports cars driving past Königsallee. They must have worked hard in their youth.

Sad, that the population is facing a shortage of babies. Self-satisfaction leaves nothing to be sated after all. In my loneliness, the mechanics of a German lifestyle would refine my apathy until at long last, the tears I shed are of diamonds.

Ah, I could save myself from hurt like that.

Whenever I see a German on a bicycle, I think: this one is a Dutch import. Het spijt me, es tut mir leid, I've offended both cousins at once, twice.

Temporal Men

What I'd been missing for a long time was a connection with whom my burst of poetic sensitivity would please the hour before bed, and the moment after sunrise.  At one point during our short-lived encounter, you told me... What does it matter what you had said, if they were but perfunctory courtesies of an uneventful exit.

Composing good morning and good night texts is one of my favourite pastimes. Especially for the designated one who I am able to bond with through sensitivity and letters. Leider nicht, ich habe niemand gefunden.

I tried again, with this one, of exceptionally meagre words. To say the least, none was appreciated, and I had only succeeded in knocking over a full bottle of confusion over his head.

Happiness is only a one-night affair if more than a one-night affair was what I sought. How did it become a month-long affair when the initial plan was to hit, miss, and run? I cannot be the only one who feels as though we should have been satisfied with the very first encounter and kept its shock in a shell as a vivid reminer of Spring mistakes. Greed has now made us indifferent to the beauty of that night's sky, lit by the explosion of a thousand blooming flowers.

He is not the one, that much I know.

You could have very well been the one. Though I can now say that I finally understand the pain that had cut your heartstrings.

The new moon is the body made of unfulfilled dreams. Together in the void, our vast silence of heartache recuperates while the storm brings a rain to moisten our spent dreams. Ah, I wish you could reach my soul as you have my heart.

Monday, 19 June 2017

Fear of...

There is nobody to talk to, so I'm here now. Do you think you could hear me out, and help me? Even a pat on the back will do, or a knock on the crown of my head. Even a light slap across the cheek will do.

I think I am quite incapable of love.

Seeing him again, I now understand the difference between a person who is loved and a person who is trapped. In the four years we have been together, I do not think I've seen a smile as bright as the one he wears these days. Perhaps I only thought I had loved him, when in reality, I am a person with no love to give.

Maybe that's why I always end up alone.

I've met someone new too, who I really like. But I'm scared. I'm not sure whether I am able to pick up another stone and start building another fortress only for it to wear down as a result of my own negligence.

The truth is always clammed up. Only sighs follow the silence and silence follows the long sighs. I'm tired.

Why do I have to be so serious all the time? To make up for the void, as if I am of a substance that is not empty.

What do I want?

When there is nobody to stretch my soul to its breaking point, I am perfectly fine in my bubble of solitude. Because there is no need to think of my shortcomings as a lover, and the lack of love that exists in my heart.

Right now, I am flying a kite in the summer breeze. By the ocean I run with its thread, the sun in my eyes that I can barely see. Before long the breeze would turn into the wind that blows it farther up into the sky, further out to sea until it is swallowed by the horizon where the two meet.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

So Früh am Sonntag

Es ist nur 6AM. Warum stand ich so früh auf, besonders am einem Sonntag? Ich weiß das auch nicht. Schlief ich gestern früh dann? Nee. Ich schlief um 2. Vier Stunden ist nicht genug. Ich weiß aber jetzt kann ich nicht mehr schlafen, als die Sonne schon im Himmel ist.

Das Bett ist nicht meinem Bett. Wo bin ich? Ha-ha. Willst du das wissen? Ich glaube, nein. Ein Mann schläfst noch neben mir.

Was mache ich? Was machte ich? Ja, wie weiß? Vielleicht suchte ich ein Gefühl, das ich vergessen habe. Obwohl ist es neue, dieses Gefühl. Und ich lerne noch, wie muss ich fallen.

Ich kam, um ihn zu treffen. Wir wollen am unser Wochenende zusammen bleiben. Eh... Das W-LAN hier ist super!

Soll ich schlafe noch? Oder... Warum habe mir kalt? Draußen ist es 24 Grad! Ich möchte ihn knuddeln, um warm auf meiner Haut zu fühlen.

Na ja. Ich soll einem Buch lesen. Männer ohne Frauen von Murakami.

Schönen Tag noch.