'You'





About Marcus.




I sit here, think of you with anger, love, hate, jealousy, fear, in my stomach. Despair.
Tears. They run down my face. And only because of you and what happened, what actually didn't happen, what I think or feel. I've been shaking all day since the conversation with Ms. L. when I think of you. Hence part of the tiredness. Sadness. The resurgent self-hatred; the self-destructive rage on me.
Even if you no longer live here - but miles away and still somehow close by ... - I think all the time, I could see you someday. Just coincidental, of course. Because I've only "met" you twice so far; With one of them you were riding your bike in a monkey tooth somewhere - even if I only saw you from behind, I knew who you were - and the other time, when I went for a walk with B. and E. The way you looked at me ... just because I was dressed differently, a little more revealingly.But the look ... I kind of liked the look - although I hate to be looked at like that in death.
I also think of you when I see someone with a goatee or goatee. You have one too. He looks so good on you ... I can't imagine myself without him. I would like to know how it feels when I could / could kiss you. Whether it would tickle or just annoying.
It is actually masochistic to imagine something like this with you, but sometimes these thoughts just come. And I can't drive them out - and sometimes I don't want to drive them out either. Because I just want to dream then ... of you.

Marcus.



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Written on October 12, 2006