Snow Before Spring

I love to be close. I know nothing better in this world than closeness and tenderness. Yes, maybe work.

I love to work. I find out these days how extremely blessed I am, not all people love to work. They care more for lying on a couch or on a beach, and then they have to drag themselves to work every day. That must be horrible. I love to work, to do stuff, to get things done, to be active and engaged in my life. I love the things I do, I have fun, and the more I do, the better I thrive.

I love the snow, which covers Copenhagen these days. It's all white and sometimes when I leave a building, I bend my neck backwards and look to the sky. And small white pieces of heaven drop slowly around my head, and it doesn't even hurt to get some in the eye. It's soft and mute. Snow slows the world down. Snow can't be rushed and can't be stopped. It just falls in it's own pace, silencing the world a little, covering it to make all edges a little softer.

I love closeness, did I mention that? Closeness is wonderful. And to be tender, to share life's sweetness, to give one's carresses and be soothing and gentle. That is wonderful. To lie close and experience breathing together. Share a certain breath.

I love friendship more than anything.

I love to play. I used to play more than I do now. I was a pool player for years. Went to clubs where I had my pool stick, just went in and played with myself for a while. Just shot the balls around, rehearsed shots and angles, turns and rolls. Also played with others of course. But mainly myself, training my focus, orientation, concentration. My ability to play.

I love when the birds of sorrow take off.

I love the seasons. This year, love will blossom when spring comes. When the trees unfold small green newborn leaves and around their feet the flowers grow, when the sun stays longer every day and the ground is warming up, when the farmers start working in the fields again and the girls let their hair be lifted by the wind, when the birds twitter and music is heard through open windows, love will blossom. Please Lord, you mighty wonderful woman with the strange name, please grant me patience. My childish heart is awaiting. Don't make me force myself to grow up my eagerness. It's so sincere and joyful.

I love my life. I have fun. I have art in my eyes. Poetry in my veins. I know great people.

I love people.

I love love. I feel the days of happiness to come. The years feel endless ahead of me.

I love the years ahead of me.

I love death. Without it somewhere in the edge of all this beauty, I couldn't do it. Life. Death is a necessary outskirt.

I love the outskirts. The edges. The drops.