i feel a little warm. the kind of warmth that gives us life and robs us of our cool comfort.
there is always a confession to make. And the seconds before it is made, we feel the rush of blood.
but sometimes the simultaneous occurrences that we experience with the main event (its importance attributed by us) receive so little attention that we react in belated regret. you know, the kind of selfish outburst of honesty, only to release our own tension within. We are selfish, more than often, to comfort ourselves, and to please ourselves. isn't there a greater tension that may happen when honesty reveals the impossibility of being as it was? perhaps we can but the difference is established.

i feel bad. to find myself in a perpetual vulnerability, which is simply the triggering of your image in my mind every now and then. i cannot help it. to unfall. but this trial, perhaps, has a deeper significance, which i cannot discover yet.
can i tell you again how i feel?
no i can't. repetition only works when the repeated identical words are said in a different context. whatever the case, the irony is always that truth is never fully revealed. it has to suffer for being the truth, and it has to commit violence to itself. i cannot undo what i have done. but i can certainly identify with this certainty of paradox. reality is always lesser than truth. before truth is manifested, the action to confuse truth happens almost immediately. we can't deal with the truth. the subjective truth. one person's truth is not another's equal reality. to accept mine is to compromise with another. but if i may, i will still feel what i feel. it is such a longing. jedem Tag zu sehen.