I comfort myself with the thought that I am not just another uncensored picture in your phone, or so you said. And I believe you because, if there is one thing you have been to me, it's honest.
I wish I could have done more for you, I wish I helped you somehow, hopefully for the long run, not just while I was around. Anyway, that is not what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write a nice story about the windows of buildings by the train tracks in Berlin, but I got distracted as I checked the "statistics" of the viewers, and how they shifted from places around Europe, to there where you are, and that made me smile a bit.
Don't get me wrong, I am pretty fine. Or as fine as I can be in the chaos I am in, I just want to get over some issues, have some piece of mind. I wish I had been more conscious when I was seventeen and I was going to therapy all the time, but I was hiding such a secret that was my own pain, I was talking about random things and never dared to be honest with that curly hair that tried to help while giving me alcohol as remedies. Very common practice, but I don't think it was useful at all.
I think I miss you because you could perfectly understand me. This is just a bridge language for everyone I meet. Everyone speaks it, but it's not the first language, and I feel anxious when I have to think about the same phrase in a thousand different ways just so that others can get it as I mean it. But with you it was easy, the bridge was somewhat a direct one.
Like the island between Malmö and Copenhague, we need two bridges to meet, and in that drive, a lot of things happen. We meet late, tired, in different moods and with different music. From different cars, at different speeds. But you were only one bridge away, and that was really nice.
Again, don't get me wrong, it's not about you specifically. It's about how well we understood each other, or maybe it is all just my imagination and all of this was an illusion in my head.
I don't want to socialize anymore. I will probably sleep some more and write about the windows by the train tracks in Berlin, and having sex with the light on, curtains fully open so that the sly ones can have their second of astonishment and doubt, and wonder "was that real, or was it just my tired eyes that tricked me?"
Good night bridge, sorry for the fuss, take care in those strange lands, don't let yourself be tricked into buying a gun and appreciate the rats, if you want.