a hard rain

she started to sobb really hard and snodder came out of her nose, it spurted out in a burst and I ran to bring her some tissue.
Under tears she screamed, so dear, in comic despair and threw her hands over her greasy ash blonde hair. Her lovely eyes all drowned in salty waters and only one white dove left.
'I want to be also someone' she cried out loud 'who likes to be spanked when they are loved'.
A contradiction as it might seem but you have to know that she has always been in an internal quarrel about her fragileness, her softness, her kind heart. But there is nothing wrong with it. It's just wrong when you are in the wrong song.

Slowly, word for word, line for line in broken English this whole incredible love unfolds itself in front of my greedy eyes.
I see, how he told her everything. Poetic, insanly amazing. So, free with his love. So overwhelmed in his love. For her. Unfuckinbelievable.

I remember how I told everybody around me: Never have I seen someone so in love before. Never. And even though I felt like the luckiest girl in my own love I knew that their's was just simply amazing. She was the poetry girl. The different one. The one who dared to be an angel. And he touched her hand, he held her, with his words, his way, his soul.

And slowly it trickles in, the rain, from falling outside for so long. Long and hard.

Fast backward, a dark evening, southern Germany, lake Constance: she waited for me in the public bathroom. A lady in the corner, homeless, watery eyes with pus coming out, hardly able to see at all. Reaching out a trembling hand, a coin, please, if you could spare it please. Our 20 $ came as a surprise. We looked at each other and decided on the spot: if those creepy old men hadn't given us those 20 $ for playing music on the ferry we wouldn't have had them either. So why not give it away to someone who might need it better than us.

In the very moment the lady realized how much we had given, her eyes lit up in a sudden surge of light coming out from underneath her sticky eye lashes: wait, wait, she said with a raspy voice: I wanna special thank you - Can I tell you your future?
In a crazy sketch she outlined for both of us our lives, including places to live and other insane details.
What stuck in my memory, however, was the man on the other side of the wall who cummed loud in the bathroom. His moans and groans and sighs delivered a spooky surreal soundtrack to a spooky surreal old lady from Eastern Europe who held our hands with her shaking fingers pointing out our lives. In a bucket in the corner was a mass of fermenting leaves in water which smelled of rotten teeth and compost. 'Black spots on dicks' she said huskily, 'if you ever spot a man with black spots on his dick you have to go to this place under the train bridge outside of town and get these plants and ferment them and put it on the penis, to heal'
She looked at me and said something about my sister's man. And how I shouldn't take him away or let him get interested in me. And that I would live at the Lacoma lake.
And that my sister wouldn't be able to have kids but would get three adopted kids.
I bought her three juggling balls the very next day because I was so scared that she'd believe her. I said, here, these are your three kids, it's over now. Don't believe a crazy woman who talked about Jesus in the same token. Maybe this woman was a gypsy. Who knows, my love.

And, while all this happened a hard rain was falling outside. It poured like the skies would open. We were soaking wet.
And a hard rain fell on my hardwood floor when she tore her hair in a fit, finally, finally letting it out, a little.
And everything makes me wonder.
Like, why do I like to be spanked?
Like, why didn't my lover ever send me letters like that?
Like, why isn't he interested in history, philosophy and culture like her man is?
Like, why I do liked spanking?
And why doesn't she.

Like, why sound initally so perfect songs suddenly so wrong?