How to sing breathless lyrics
In a city full of longing, love ...
She prances past with a spark of ease. I stop and hold my breath. "So there they are," I whisper, trying to get a clear picture of their flaming robes. I want to scream out, greet her and say, “You know, I've been looking for the other half of my heart. After the light! ”And while a man next to me is picking up returnable bottles on the S-Bahn platform and nobody dares to warn him of the danger, she rushes by, blatantly, naively as she is, and doesn't think about it Dream of giving one of us a "Mü" of your preciousness.
Right behind their flutter: I, someone who tries to catch the abrasion of their stardust that the sublime love exudes. So I try to get some of the inner wealth that they are all talking about. From the scent of magical cinnamon that heats up the mind and the smell of refreshing nana mint, which cools them down again. At least that's how I imagine it.
And as contradictory as these components may be, the more similar they are to love. The inestimable power that should actually be looking for the recipient, and wasting its time running away from it.
Meanwhile, with a raised forefinger, warning people of the naivety of romanticism, which is said to have died out centuries ago, love runs past me with a stretched middle finger and laughs up its sleeve. She doesn't realize she's doing me wrong, how could she? Because it does not lack what most of the people here lack. It is easy for her to talk, because she is full of this sugary, flaming flame of harmony and equilibrium that rises on clouds and that we enthusiastically call love.
My friends say something like: “Not with you, you would have kicked anyone who gets so stupid! Or at least bitten in the calf. ”Tjaha, just not the almighty love who goes for a walk with me and lets me fetch because she knows I'm going back to her stupidly.
Sometimes I hear from my family: "Man, now it's about time" or "You are just too picky, lower your expectations!"
I answer and let them know that I have screwed so tight that screws are loose on me and explain: “But listen,” because “everyone has a different task in life. And I knew early on, almost too early, that it was my destiny to find the right counterpart, to merge two individuals into one, just as it is destined for other people to be parents. ”Because only this encounter completes me.
Then at Hackescher Markt I meet a couple of philistines who are busy shaking in front of even more narrow-minded people and throwing them embellished sentences, and I envy them. Because they don't know that love left their world a long time ago. I roam past complaining pensioners to avoid those who love love and shout: “You had your chance!” That makes sense, “but I didn't!” And between the many addictions, longings, contentious neighbors and bread Baldness, I discover a girl with a gingerbread heart that says "I mog di". The hair looks pitch black in the dark. Her auburn mane can only be seen in the headlights.
If there is a dream woman, then I suppose she looks like this. A young man sneaks up on her from behind, who with a little less tan could have been Robert Patterson. He kisses her on the neck and meanwhile the girl is startled, and with a graceful movement jerks her head, a broad smile runs over her mouth, which is followed by a chuckling laugh. As if a lake full of secrets lay hidden in the depths of his eyes, Robert looks at her calmly and says in a sassy way: "If I had known that you tasted so sweet, I would have looked for you as a child ..."
This is what Mr. Right looks like, I tell myself and then conclude, “The two must be angels.” How else would they have got the stormy, irrepressible love to obey them, to command her to leave a piece of themselves?
I'm probably hot on her heels, I suspect, after I haven't seen her in a long time.
But there, with a springy gait, she hisses past me, looking at me as if she were a lady from Zehlendorf in a Louis Vuitton coat, and I was a poor eater.
"Where are you actually going?" I call after her, but she ignores me, knowing full well that I have turned every stone and looked under every newspaper to find her. But instead the tide turns for me, she stares at me as if I'm some stupid and gives me a contemptuous look. I frown and counter with a monotonous facial expression. Of course it leaves her cold and she disappears into the hustle and bustle of the crowd.
"How many more exams do I have to pass before you finally notice me !?" I swear and demand an answer. And while the trees bend in the wind and wonder whether there has ever been someone who was looking for love as desperately as I was, a barrage swiftly pulls pictures of city lights past me. So I set off in the hope of bridging part of the void in me by crossing the promising overpass on the Spree Canal to the cathedral and landing my head on the lawn. Now that I'm almost drunk, the night sky looks much friendlier, and I can see something like a face in the stars. After a short pause, I notice that my life is like a party where the spark doesn't jump. The equipment is first class but there is no big bang.
From a distance I seem like someone who eloquently calls a homeless person, and who is called a bum in big city jargon. And I realize you are right. Because without love I am homeless ...
I would probably never say that out loud, and before the opportunity presents itself, I have to burp, and since my openness doesn't appeal to tourists, I screw up my eyebrows and move on with my new friend, the courage that I don't get thanks to two beers moves from the side, and I think to myself: "Now off with the kid gloves, no more perfumed words, and no more self-pity!"
In a flash, infinite wisdom suddenly becomes clear to me. "Love is not pink", it is black at night and sky blue by day, that is why it is so difficult for us to see it.
So what I have left is to listen to Mr. Maas, even though I don't feel like talking to the regulars at the moment. However, Mr. Maas and love are old friends. So maybe I can learn something and dig up one or the other wisdom that promises healing. Mr Maas is a caretaker, but not just any caretaker. He has been married to his wife Betty for 30 years and has three children, all of whom are grown up and have families of their own. Mr Maas has twice beaten cancer and his wife says of him: “He laughs too loudly at his own jokes, and he farts all the time at night. But what should I do, I love this idiot! ”And while sitting at the counter joking:“ A measure can also be a bucket ”, he forgives me the little faux pas and looks at me pityingly.
I rest my head on my fist and realize that the friendly caretaker is not a special caretaker simply because he seems to have leased love for himself. No no. Mr. Maas has the master key to all doors of the television tower and thus also the entry to the top floors of the imposing club, to which only very few people have access. Now Mr. Zufall wants me to meet Mr. Maas in a place where many people have tried to put a stop to their longing by drowning them in a bottle. He understands lost souls and pats me on the shoulder. And before I can ask him how he did it with the trick and the love, he raves about the incredible stories that happened to him in the lofty heights. From the luminous power of his wife and the warmth with which this big city welcomes you.
"Really?" I ask cheekily and countered that she has greeted me with a cold politeness that is otherwise reserved for bad people. But this is also in the eye of the beholder, I suspect.
Maas gives me a look that attests to a certain understanding.
Of course I perk up my ears when he emphasizes that you can reach for the clouds from the tower's antenna.
Now I say to myself, "Man, where heaven is so close, love can't be far."
For a while I take a strong sip because my dry throat calls for fluids. It is time to buy the friendly caretaker another beer, I wait for a moment of carelessness and grab the master key. My heart is racing and I too, across Alexander-Platz to the entrance of the Protzstengels.
I look around to dare one last desperate look at love, with a heavy heart I climb the last hundred steps of the tallest building in Germany and feel that my strength has left me, but that I have soon reached the top. After unlocking the doors and overcoming a few obstacles, I reach the railing of the highest platform breathlessly, and scream as loud as I can with my throat and deepest desire:
"Light of my life, I am here ... !!!"
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