There are strange, yet marvelous things about the human mind. It can do lots of stuff only by itself, at the same time. Thinking, calculating, remembering, solving, dreaming, loving. Both of the last activities are unconciously effectuated by a part of the human mind known as the subconscious. Love comes from there. Love is the only part of the subconscious that can stimulate the other hundreds of mental activities, the one that keeps insisting on tinking about something in specific.
Thinking of you, only you. Your hair, the feeling of it, memorized by my fingers. Your eyes, those flashbacks that blind me from the present, that take me to that night when we first kissed. That kiss that, like engraved in my lips, I can still taste and feel like it is happening. Your face, like a retro sepia-coloured picture from a Polaroid camera, pinned to the wall of my skull with a tack. You smile. It all shines when you smille, once again, that phenomena, that moment I was waiting for all the time that conformed our meetings. It shows up again, your smile. It whispers. Your voice, recorded in endless tapes that keep playing on my ears every night. Singing, laughing, speaking nonsense. The sweet distraction, it reminds me of when we were still foolish. Foolish enough to even think of being toghether all the time. Or only I was the foolish one? I don’t know. I will never have the relief of knowing. Knowing who was the foolish one. You, me, or just our thoughts. Our thoughts about love. Our love, in thought. Unser Liebe in Gedanken.