Things I’ve learned since moving to Berlin last year:

The water here damages my hair

Throughout my life, I have coincidentally bought a new batch of underwear every time I started hooking up with someone new

The number of times a tarot video - that was supposed to find me on a certain day - finds me 7 minutes too late is upsetting and presumably a sign. As is how often some sort of text triggers a weird reaction inside me. That’s how I found myself crying to one of Leonard Cohen’s poems. It’s really lustful and horny and probably not supposed to make you cry; I most likely saw it in some Instagram reel too, googled and screenshotted it to come back to later:

Ah. That.
That’s what I was so disturbed
about this morning:
my desire has come back,
and I want you again.
I was doing so fine,
I was above it all.
The boys and girls were beautiful
and I was an old man, loving everyone.
And now I want you again,
I want your absolute attention,
your underwear rolled down in a hurry
still hanging on one foot,
and nothing on my mind
but to be inside
the only place
that has
no inside,
and no outside.

I don’t know why it made me feel the way it did. I just know that I used to feel a lot of shame about wanting things, wishing, and needing. So much that I didn’t allow myself to verbalize my desires for most of my life. I have gotten better at it this past year, but I still fistfight myself for crushes and ambitions, and the times I’ve lost for sure outnumber my victories. Still, I’ve managed to come out with scraped knees a couple of times now, but I’m still waiting for the moment I’ll find someone beautiful and remain unharmed, let alone allow it to embellish me.