I talked to him just yesterday and his voice is like walnut. The laughter is like strings and I want to touch it all the time. I will make myself a fool to make his laughter vibrate against my neck. He is not like anyone else and I’m stuck in his softness. He doesn’t give me beautiful words. He gives me sentences. The context. It resembles nothing I’ve experienced before. You know how stuck I have been. In placebo and seclusion. In lies and falls. You know how I have hesitated and disappeared. You know everything. And I’m not scared, Adagio. I am not scared. You understand, I am not even scared about the worries joked away any longer, because this man, he will understand. He already understands the high and the low and the noise that murmurs, and he sees the silence and doesn’t cut himself on the sharp edges. I run like snow through his fingers. Maybe you heard the ice debacle?
It is him, whom I shall walk across the bridge where the water is spring, summer, autumn and winter with. Whom I have been waiting to tell you about. I want to show him everything I never before let surface. I want to show him the house on the hill and all the places you loved as a child. I want to dance with him to our music and tell you about the steps.