This picture is the proof

This picture is the proof:

Once I stood near the pacific ocean and looked into a book while a boy on a skateboard drove past me and I didnt even notice him. I had sand in my shoes, I had memories in my head, later on I sat in a car and constantly tried to find words for this city that I didnt feel even if I breathed in so deep that I thought for one moment my lung would explode.

This picture is the proof:

Once I stood next to a house and my hair was shorter than it is now. I wore a blue jacket, that I had bought a week earlier in the first foreign city that I claimed to be mine. I slept in a small bed next to an unpainted wall where I couldnt hear the ocean but imagined I would. It took more than half a year till I slept in such a small bed again that wasnt mine but yours. In a room that was furnished just a bit more than the one next to the ocean. I never told you that. I never thought about this till now.

This picture is the proof:

Once I was a woman at the age of 26 years and 121 days. I was as far away from home as I had never been before. I carried all my important belongings in a grey bag that day which I would lose just months later.  I thought about this city far away which I wasnt able to call the place I belonged to back then. I thought about that a lot and I knew I had to leave right after my return. I knew my heart would break for unnumerous reasons if I didnt do so. I was right. I just didnt realise that moving to this other city wouldnt help a bit.

This picture is the proof:

The most beautiful light blue shoes are mine. I bought them in Cologne while I was waiting for G. a long time ago. I havent wore them for some months now. I should start doing that again. I should also wear this blue trousers again, roll them up a bit and pretend the summer is not about to leave. My feet were still a bit wet from this ocean I walked in for the first and last time this day. I thought by myself: Two oceans in less than two years. I thought by myself: I am a lucky girl.

This picture is the proof:

365 days pass in a second and still there is so much time to fail, to win, to lose, to survive and wake up after a short or longer sleep and think for a short second: Everything is in its right place. Oh how much I moved myself in these days. Oh how much I was angry at myself that I am not able to call anything my home. Oh how I hated and was excited about all these new places I tried to make mine at the same time. 365 days and I realized: the difficult thing is not to move. The difficult thing is to stay. I realized: my heart is where my home is and not the other way round. I realized: I am not good at running away. I realized: Its all ok. Its all just fine. But you dont have to know that all the time. I realized that waiting at a red traffic light, underneath a sky that was already getting dark and on my way to a house of which I still remember the name on the doorbell and the number of the steps that lead to one door.

(This picture is the proof: Once I woke up in L.A.. I went to the beach. I looked in a book. A guy on a skateboard drove by. I didnt notice him at all. I wore a blue jacket, blue trousers, blue shoes. Everything I wished the following year to be didnt happen. Everything I wished the following year to be still became true. That’s how it is. I still dont know how to explain it. I still just know: I am not ready yet. Not finish. Not a bit.)

Kommentar verfassen

Trage deine Daten unten ein oder klicke ein Icon um dich einzuloggen:

WordPress.com-Logo

Du kommentierst mit Deinem WordPress.com-Konto. Abmelden /  Ändern )

Google Foto

Du kommentierst mit Deinem Google-Konto. Abmelden /  Ändern )

Twitter-Bild

Du kommentierst mit Deinem Twitter-Konto. Abmelden /  Ändern )

Facebook-Foto

Du kommentierst mit Deinem Facebook-Konto. Abmelden /  Ändern )

Verbinde mit %s