Love taught me how to hate. Love taught me the difficulty of breathing and how my hands can shake uncontrollably. Love let me feel the warmth in my face and the butterflies in my stomach that day when we ran away in the summer. The straws tickled our legs and feet while we tried not to break any mussels and shells in the wet sand. Love taught me to look positively on my life and instantly of what I have to lose. Did we decide to give birth to the third person ourselves? The person does not breathe, but it is everywhere around us. It steals our energy. This is all an illusion, I told myself. And so did you. It is a mystery to me how your skin, your scent and soft touch can make me feel so much love, confidence and serenity towards you. It feels like there is nothing left for myself. The illusion leaves me when you leave. Love taught me of loneliness in a twosome and it taught me of envy. Love taught me of provocation and my yearning to scream at you, trying to make you feel what I feel, understand my sorrows and the deep desolation that I try so hard to let go of. I do my best, I swear. I breath slowly, I dance until I feel the warmth in my fingertips. I close my eyes and let the music wave away my dark circles of thoughts for a few seconds. I smile, even though it is difficult. Listen to me. I want to stand by your side even though my own personal foundation is cracking. Yet it is so easy for me to forget, just by looking at you in the morning sun. The frozen branches waves in the wind and the coffee warm us up. A surge of pride runs through me when I realize you are walking right next to me, looking at me and smiling.
Shot in Berlin and Paris
Published in jane. by the grey attic, Australia, 2018