I turn my head to look at you, and I notice how I perceive you differently. Your profile, your gaze when you feel unobserved, the way you remind yourself that you’re here and you’re tired and a little drunk, but you’re here. And so am I, here with you, here with us, the way we turned out to be. And as I smile at you without you noticing, without anyone noticing, I realise how what I do, what I’ve become, isn’t for anyone but me. And quietly, I decide that this is my place to be, the right one for me, and to grow, in a way I thought I’d never turn out to be.
“I have a tendency to disappear into myself for long periods of time. I don’t think you can really truly be yourself without being by yourself.”
They are for me, the many days of wind and rain, for I am the one who doesn’t mind. They make it easier to say goodbye to what I once wanted to hold onto, turning all of this into memories before I’ll have to - so that I can be safe along the way.
a few photos from our day in Karlsruhe
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
sun in the morning, street light at night
Back home at my parent’s house, I used to get woken up by the sun shining through the window and directly into my eyes as soon as I opedned them. When I wake up early in the morning at the place I have been calling home these past two years, I always take a second to notice the light reflections on the wall opposite to my bed before I fall asleep again — and usually only wake up after the sun has already disappeared behind the house. If I stay home I don’t get to see it over the day, but when the afternoon rolls around it comes back through the other window and warms me up on tired days. I get the most beautiful sunsets here, but as soon as the sun has left, the street light shining through the window reminds me of the next morning and the nostalgia that will come with it.
I am trying my best to say goodbye to all the little parts of my room before it is actually time to leave.
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
― Anaïs Nin