My parents are both born in August. When the apples are ripe and the sun is thick like egg yolk. When life is a soft breeze at the pool. 62 years later my brother eventually became uncool. While my father’s garden is overgrown and my mom‘s is a little too clean. Though I love my…

I think I really liked that Mexican guy. What can I say I tried my best. It’s hard for me to touch someone. Out of the blue. Feels like being greedy. Needy. Touchy. Unless it happens randomly. You and me we are both lonely, said my sister. My sister sister. Where is she? Miss her.…

I rather stay awake and think  Than waking up another lonely morning About how to change what needs to be Than letting another day pass like before And how to leave my mundane solitude Alone for some time So that when I get back home in the morning I‘m full of you.

– after months of misunderstanding and distrust, discomfort, discouragement, delusion, after months of distance – Where to begin a conversation that had never been possible before? In the future. In the future.

Problem in past pursued in present Populations inherently passive, perpetuate intergenerational pain partially intolerantly protesting particularly inter parental post-traumatic inheritance pledge Papa is paradoxically perturbating inner peace Perception is paying Peruvian indigenous prayer Panic is persistent

I prioritise safety over freedom It’s still so hard to grasp. And it will always run like sand through my hands After you I experienced life from far Who is the main character again? Pulling up the boat out of the water? Lost touch with my skin, my muscles, my appetite. After you I felt…

Can people really change? The way they look at you and the world and themselves? Well you did. Or maybe that’s a lie. And you never changed the way you looked at me: From up above in the end. From down below in the beginning. But never on eye-level. I think change is the hardest…

So that you would open up I wish I was more sensitive So that we could talk I wish I was more sensitive Like we used to be I wish I was more sensitive And you more sensitive to me

I’m trying to see the beauty. In It. The ugliest conflict I have ever involved in. Which began as the most beautiful encounter I ever witnessed. The terror, pain and fear of losing each other in conflict after having experienced tenderness, vulnerability and love for the first time. Ambiguity. Beauty. Anything else would have been…

What is there more beautiful on earth than two people getting to know each other? The gestures, looks, smells, and styles of their belongings? The way they move. The tone of their voice. Their worries and wishes? Their fears and desires. The form of their body and texture of their skin. Their hair. Their home,…