and i know..you and me...we will never be the same again

i rarely dream of songs...but when i woke up about two minutes ago i ha dthis song in mind and you can not believe how gratefull i was to finde it on youtube just to let you know...whats in my mind...

my christmas was kinda sad...right before the christmas eve i lost someone...someone i loved and liked a lot...i know i know...i promised to come to see you..and didnt came for a long time...because of so many reasons..the way so far..the work...the fear...the shame...and most of all: because there was still time...in knew i couldt get over it and come to see you tomorrow..next week..next month for sure i d make it..i d come..i d sit in your living room...i d hold your hands...the hands that brushed hair out of my forehead when i was a little boy..hands which were all old and soft now...i would look out of the window and see my own 5 year old me run down the green towards the wall at the end of the garden...there where we burried the cat and the turtle in a festive Ceremony....one of the last times we truly met you hugged me close...a rather hard thing since i m so much taller now....and you said: come over soon will you? and bring that book..the diary...and i said yes..yes i d come for sure...yes i d drink tea from your good china..yes i d bring that book you were longing to read...and i never came...i never saw the waves again....and now you are gone...with a whisper of the wind...last night i kneed in the darkness of my room...my hands fumbling through the darkness of my closet..until my fingers found the book you longed to read...the silky wrap felt cool and old against my fingers...which made me think of a funeral i went to long ago....a funeral of a friend...one of the most creative minds i ever met...found at home..dead..floating in the bathtub...i didnt knew anybody at this funeral...your funeral....i saw your parents talking to the priest..your mother shaking from tears...your friends..a group to the left...your parents hatet your friends and accused them to be responsible for your death...the didnt knew i wasnt one of them...and so your mothers eyes rested cool and cold like two little stones on me when i walked towards your coffin to reach out..but i couldnt touch it..to touch this smooth honeycolored wood would mean its real..you were dead for real....so i walked back to my place...all the eyes on me...i could hear them friends of yours whisper...they didnt knew me but knew my face from the magazine i wrote for back then...my whitened face next my high brow tongue in cheek column about all these things that were important back then..they knew that you were knowing me...and somehow i felt all wet and dirty ..for beeing there..for beeing that weird person inbetween the groups...i wrapped my fingers arround a book i had in the pocket of my coat..a small book..so tiny and thin..poetry...i had introduced you to that book years ago the way i was introduced to it myself by my uncle so long ago...walt whitmans leaves of grass...back in that summer night when we had read it..discussed it and drank this really cheap and sweet wine because back then this was what young creative people like us would drink...i remember one morning in your apartment in cologne..when i woke up early and rised from the sofa...the windows were all foggy and moist and my fingers would leave wet prints on the windows surface...there is a picture of you glued in one of my diaries..not even a real one but a photokopie..all grainy and black and white and i could stand up right now and touch the lines of your face...the face i glued inthere so long before you died...long befor ethe change came..long before the tide of your little bathtub would wash over your face and let you dissapear underneath the reflections of the waters surface....i know how i clutched? my fingers around that book while i sat there and listened to teh priests words..well..i didnt..i didnt listen at all...i sat there and looked inside myself and thought of you...and how i couldnt beolieve that you are dead already..somehow i was sure that all of this was a huge joke..your way to punish me for not answering your letters for so long...somehow i was sure that you was there..hidden somewhere and watching us...and as soon as i would believe you are dead you would jump out of your hideaway and scream: surprise....and i would feel all silly and laugh nervously and all these people..who of course werent real friends or family but actors..would laugh too just as if this wouldn have been the best joke ever...but of course that didnt happen...and when it was time to bring you outhere into the graveyard..i rose when your parents walked on by...there was a huge gap between your family and your friends who followed your coffin...and i longed so intensly for a hand to hold..the way one longs for a drink...i felt so missplaced there in this empty space between the people who were important in your life...and i barely couldnt see anything though the tears that clouded up inside me..and so i just focused on the heels of the girl that walked in front of me..i followed these heels the whole way..i didnt saw anything..i just followed her shoes and suddently i stood in front of your grave and looked down on your coffin...clumpsy i fumbled arround and took the book out of my pocket and laid it on your coffin which was half in the hole already....and i remembered how we once danced in that small cafe near the old market....how we spinned arround and how free we were and how i was all brave and hold your hand and made my arm with you stretch out in a big dramatic hollywood gesture and bowed you down until your hair almost touched the floor underneath a thousnad small garden lights...and how all the people looked at us full of admiration because we were young and careless...and becaus ethey didnt knew any better then that...they didnt knew there was darkness ahead of us...they didnt knew that you would die in your bathtub all by yourself...they didnt knew i would stand by your grave and leave a book full of fading words on your coffin...they didnt know because when one is young and beautiful and careless one seems to be immortal too ... the last time we saw each other was at a bistro in cologne...you were so sad that day...and i assured you that this will pass too..and i went away and before i walked out of the bistro i turned arround and looked at you and gave you that smile that was meant to encourage you...i dint knew back then how i would think of you now..that when ever i take a bath and the water starts to get cold..the foam starts to fade i think of you...washed away like the little mermaids body...in a flush of cold soapy waves...

i dont know why i wrote about all this...i actually wante dto write about the dream i had...last night...i have been always a very intense dreamer...beautiful and scary dreams...dreams which i turned into stories...and i just realised how symbolic that is that i turned some of them into stories and publishe dthem..that i sold my dreams in a way...but thats another subject i think..the thing is that i never was able to know that i was dreaming...when i dream i always think its real..once when i was 5 years old i dreamed that i walked through a cornfield...but instead of corn there where small field mouses/mice growing out of the weeds...small little mice with redish fur...i colected and picke dthem all ..i filled my pyjamas piockets with these small and wooly creatures and it made me so happy..and then i woke up and found myself in tears..my pyjama didnt had pockets in real...

there are a few places in my past i cant go back too...places and houses i m banned from..by shame and fear.....i cnat go back because i decided to walk away and a thing i learned very early is that its much easier to leave a room then to walk back in...and last night i dreamed i was back in one of these houses where i have been so happy when i was young...a place taht belonged to my dad after he left my mother and where i would visit him every now and then during summer...it was a old farm and many people..all arty and hippie-like lifed there...kids where there too and i hate dthem so much for having my daddy arround every day while i would be so far away...there was this huge room....its a particular room in a farmhouse but i dont know the english word...i m not sure if i know even the german word..everyone called it the tenne..a room which was important while harvesting...so every now and then they would set up huge tables there...bread would be baked...people would come..to eat and drink...connor would play his guitar...and everyone would sing and dance all night while the children would run in and out of the house..in to grab something to eat and out into the summer night again to hunt each other over the yard and to search for fireflies....last night i wa sthere..and my dad and his back then gilrfriend guided me arround the house....like i was a foreigner...the houses floor somehow were covered withnautumn leaves which made a weird sound under my feet with every step...they brought me into a room...and explained to me that every person who would visit this place would bring a piece of wood or an piece of art to poay for food and fun that night...and suddentky i knew i was dreaming...i turned arround..and suddentoly in was in the old chappel of the house..by now the dried leaves were already up till my knees...and i looked at the windows with the poainted on saints....and i suddently was holding my camera...and let it drop..because i knew with a silent stab into my heart that my pyjama has no pockets...and the moment i thought of this the world turned upside down for a moment and suddently i stood at the road again..again i was walking towards the house...with a lot of people..the all met in front of the gate (the lights in the tenne were already glowing and music was playing) and everyone would take someones hand and walk through the gate...i of course walked through it all by myself...an dthe lights fade away and i woke up....and while i woke up i dreame dof this song....you never see it it coming somehow...all of this has slipped through my hands...my hands which are so big now...so big that they can pretend that they dont need to be hold...i leave things behind so they can not leave me behind...you and me..we will never be the same again...i just got up to make tea..and outside the snow was falling again..and it was all cold outside...and somehow it is all cold inside me today too...my soul wants to wrap its arms around it self to keep it warm but it doesnet work...an di didnt made tea but poured myself a drink...and i know how it makes me look like in your eyes...that lonely silly man..morning drinking..hanging on to his dreams of far away places...but what can i do?..no one can get out of his skin...if i was smart i would run away again..but i cant..i m not..and i guess i ll stay...my pyjama has no pockets you know....and we ll never be the same again..hold me today in your thoughts...god knows i need it...no matter how strong and big these hands look like...when they say they dont need someone to hold them they lie..dont believe them...just put your hand in mine..