Part 21

The escape

The thoughts race through mean head. I am dead tired and nevertheless can I do not mean eyes not to close. It wrote something, what hammers me incessantly in the head. „If it still which for you feels, it will understand.” Would you become, Tina? I am not at all so safe me there. Understanding, is the one thing, but should you after all the time actually some more for me to feel be able. The thought appears to me more than absurdly. And nevertheless Losingthelight had not completely injustice. Naturally I would like to know, how you are. I would play gladly mousie, would risk a timid view from my mouse hole, would watch the smell of your proximity scent, which hear sound of your voice, you, how you are located in the kitchen, cook for you a coffee and pour him then ritual into the cup. At night, if you sleep I into your bed would crawl and you sleeping to watch, this peacefulness and peace, this security and warmth, which you radiate, if you sleep. How often have I you at night in such a way observed and as if you felt it, you huddle against closely to me, pulled themselves mean arm affectionate around your hip and gave me a tender kiss on my hand. Oh God, Tina, I miss so, so much in this instant, more than ever before. I would affect you completely easily with my whisker to feel and a deep breath with my little nose take only around one moment your gentle skin, I love the smell of your body. And then, then I became for safety's sake, before I fall asleep here still before loud beatitude beside you on the cushion and so suddenly from Mr. Piddles morning whining, sorry Dana, so fast me my small little legs would carry could, again into my mouse hole run back, me in my little bed put and peacefully fall asleep. You are missing to me so much.

The more I over my crazy idea, in most anonymous all media, the Internet, to find in a notorious lesbian chat in the discussion with a wild-strange woman, advice, comfort and the solution think, the more absurdly and at the same time incomprehensibly now am my reaction on it. This woman did not have the smallest notion, who I am, which I am, which I had done you and she claim nevertheless oneself to judge on to be able itself, which I was to do and more still, how you would react. And in all this feeling chaos, in all this anonymity, between all these small lies, which one uses, in order to make itself invisible, into all the small flame of the truth, which seemed to become now in me larger and larger to understand me forces blazed me forces, to do something to something nevertheless, before it out-ate me from the inside out. How is much still remaining of the former bed? How much of the fire of the love for you, which became the fire of the hate against me? She said, I am to write you, Tina, is to say the truth to you. I am not times safe me whether you want to at all still hear her, whether it interests you at all, whether you… no, that do not have you not, truly? You forgot me, did not forget, not us truly? No, that cannot be, that may be, or?