Theme

“To be honest I don't know what I'm looking for - who to be. Sitting here as once before, weeks ago, just waiting for a knock on that door. And I have left all I thought was me to find out, to make sure if it was you or me that made me feel so free and real. But when we kiss I don't know… I just don't know. 'Cause it leaves a taste of emptiness and I think “What if I'm simply depressed?” Blind. Just finding rest from my mind here in Budapest? Confusing zest with the joy of being blessed with the bliss of self-escape as we kiss? And mixing my being unstressed with your being undressed and the taste of being true with the fresh taste of me and you as we touch? I don't know. But I saw so much of me in you; the me I've missed; the ‘young and free’ in you. But still that doesn't mean a thing; may not mean anything about me needing you. But I guess we had to meet, to be near, to make sure… And still, my dear, beyond this bed and that door, to be honest, I fear… I just don't know.”

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_Did you write this? – Asked Grylls, the stuffed Bear.

_No, Bear, I didn`t. Daniel Gildenlöw did.

_Will you say this to that girl?

_No.

_Why?

_Coz it`s wrong, Bear.

_Hm. It was not supposed to be wrong. – He doesn`t even human.

_Bear, you know what they call the ones who know a lot about love? Poets. Atheists are the ones who know a lot about God. The point is that understanding love – or killing it – gives one no reason to hate whatever it used to be. Whereas knowing God pretty well is the only way one can ever find a legitimate reason hate him. A poet misses his past beliefs just like he would miss a good friend who passed away… That`s why poets write with deep sorrow: they are mourning. Keep it a secret, Bear: actual romantic love is muddy... poems are backfiring arrows.

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The inspiration for this text has never read it before... She probably never will.

May, 2015