Accused – Excused

Do I accuse

the existence

of the internet,

smartphones

and social media?

I don’t.

Though, if I could choose,

I would live without it.

Do I accuse

the preconceptions

of being white,

of being a women,

of being german?

I don’t.

Though, white I am,

So strong I am,

So blonde I am,

So many privileges I have.

Do I accuse

the social pressure,

the loud voices,

the language itself?

I don’t.

Though, I like to be silent.

I like to light a candle,

just for myself.

So many thoughts,

I can only have on my own.

At the end

I don’t want to accuse,

I want you to understand.

Shepherd in me

Longing moment

I am coming to rest and the sounds feel magical. It is the golden hour of the moss. The stones are moistly warm and inviting me to stay a little longer. A tiny, soft landscape is getting visible under my hands. So many differently intriguing shapes, some soft and fluffy with round edges, some pointy with spikes. All together forming a whole little world by itself. One, two, three. Four more. Tip tap, tip tap, tick tick, tick. Just a little further and jump. Very fast and agile, step by step, maybe on an important mission. So tiny, so precious and so alive. How much I wish to be out there.

Far away I hear children in an old house with high ceilings, rolling with their plastic toys over the wooden floor. Somewhere, men are mumbling. Monotonous but calming words. I don’t understand. Over my head, swarms of birds, clangour, so loud, from left to right and right to left. Gathering all in the crown of a big oak tree. Different ones, doing the same, time and again. The bell from a high tower nearby is spreading its sound over the city, announcing the silence. It is more quiet now and time to go back, protected by the darkness, I would love to hunt for my food.

Next time

The words are out of my head but still in my mind. Writing as if it would help. Help to understand, not to express.

Carefully, I fold the paper in the middle. Again and again, as small as it can be, hoping to let it disappear. Slightly relieved but still full of thoughts. I put the letter in the glass and press the cork on it as deep as I can. As if it would matter. As if I wouldn’t know how to fool myself. Number 134. Deep down to the smallest detail, with all the fear to speak them out loud. Knowing that they don’t know I put the glass back to where it belongs. A belonging that became a habit. One with no sense of belonging.

I sit down and stare at the glass. 134. Life has changed, but my words don’t change anymore. They are kept and get cold until they freeze, though never loosing their taste. I wonder what role they could have played and I tell myself, one day, one day out loud.

Dialogue