I will borrow your melancholia as fuel for my own. So I can cry in the middle of the road. Between Stade and Rotterdam, I gazed at the window and looked for your whisper. But you’re not there to be heard or looked at. Instead I found my own reflection and imagination of days forgotten.
Distances are getting longer here. With despair, everything gets harder. Even in the sunny day such as today. This is one of my Eurorepan days where I beg for rain to fall. So I can please my melancholic desire. So I can join you in the club of sadness. But I keep thinking of seas and skies in Siberut.
Perhaps I will come back with nothing, for nothing. It is like I am missing something. Not a reason to live, but a reason to laugh. Smiles are temporary and mechanical. While headache comes constantly like little rains in Dutch autumn. Should I bring you dead flowers from dead joys of mine?
I miss beers more than anything now. My feeling is floating nowhere. I would like to wander more in the forest of uncertainties. So I am certain that I am uncertain. Life is paradoxical and full of ambivalences. I have always been trying to celebrate it. But now I am lost in my own wild thoughts.
(Flixbus HH-Rott, 13.09.18)