„I just have gotten tired of all the maybes. I think I’ll stay away from them for a while.“


There are girls who eat nothing at all. There are girls who eat their feelings. There are girls who do not sleep. I am one of them. On better nights I go and tell I chose Insomnia As A Lifestyle. On not-so-good ones I tell nothing at all. Sleeplessness is a lonely matter. Rarely do I share it. It is a state where monsters are created, pacts are made and promises look broken ““ it’s a country of its own. A couple of nights ago I had a visitor in wakeful land. 4 years old and he said all the shadows are ghosts. Not the good ones that eat wind, but the bad ones that eat your eyesight and pump cold acid into your veins and put you under black light and dance with you. We made plans that night and found out the truth about things. Most of it has to be kept secret. But I can tell you that ghosts drink milk from dead cows to maintain white and scary. They will explode, however, if you trick them into eating chocolate. By 4am I was also convinced that unicorns once did exist. They are extinct now like dinosaurs are because of the amount of glitter in their lungs. And maybe you did not know but in the age of dinosaurs there were no mountains on this planet. Only canyons. Depth was dangerous. On a different matter we found snow to be a liar and a heart breaker. It starts as snow up there and arrives as plain old rain on our sidewalk.“

Diesen Text hat Claude geschrieben und am Samstag zieht sie fort. Diese Stadt wird leerer ohne sie und so anders. Jeder, wirklich jeder sollte am Wochenende am Fenster stehen und verdammt noch einmal jedem, aber wirklich jedem Umzugswagen winken, der ihm über den Weg fährt oder über die Straße dort unten. Sie könnte es sein und das ist immer eine Option.