A Way of Escape

Sometimes I believe, it had everything to do with this space.

This space was everything. And everything was this space.

Sometimes I believe, I was this space.

But I that was also in this space.

I was in myself.

And sometimes both these others were in this space. This child and this stranger.

So they were also in me.

I was not alone.

But I was alone.

I could not see them and they did not speak with me.

Even I did not speak with myself.

I was alone in myself.

Sometimes I believe, I was lonesome

I no longer knew me.

I had forgotten myself.

Or I had forgotten the Word for me. My name.

Sometimes I believe, there was a second space in this space.

I believe, it was a memory space.

But I cannot remember.

The memory was a child without name.

Sometimes I saw it, but it said nothing to me.

I was alone in myself. I was lonesome.

The space had stopped speaking to me.

And the space in the space had lost his tongue.

Everything was silent.

All that was left was form.

I was a body in my own body.

The child, the stranger and I embodied ourselves in myself.

Sometimes I was astonished at this symbiosis.

Sometimes I had stopped thinking.

This was a moment of freedom, I believe.

Sometimes I marvelled at the breathing of the space and the quiet groaning of the space in the space.

Then sometimes I thought, I’m still alive .

But I was not longer there.

I was in myself, but I was not present.

Sometimes I wanted to remain, sometimes not.

Sometimes I simply wanted to disappear.

Sometimes I wanted to escape out of myself.

Sometimes I wanted to break out of myself together with the stranger and the child.

One unexpected moment we succeeded, the stranger and I.

Then, however, we were somehow not there at all. Or we were somewhere other.

But the child had been dreaming and remained in the space. It had remembered something.

But the space had forgotten it.

Sometimes, I do not know any more where I should search for it.

Sometimes, I do not know any more where I should search for myself.

And the stranger, I never saw again.

Now everything is white.

But I feel grey.

My memory has stopped like a sick clock.

And the past has forgotten itself.

I still know myself. But I do not recognise myself any more.

I know nothing about myself anymore.

However, that I know for certain.

It is a kind of return.


Maybe not.


2012 (für Nadine)