Utopia

“Where can I find you?” you asked me, and I looked at you, torn, because I couldn’t quite tell at that moment whether you meant the question the way you said it. I shook my head. Maybe I wanted to shake it off, the thought that you could really have meant it that way.
“Nowhere, in the non-place. But you know that. You bore me. Always the same questions. Always the same answers. It’s so tiring,” I replied, not looking at you because I didn’t need your procrastination right now. Not now. What else did I have to do with you when you couldn’t even remember the immediate.
“Don’t play games with me. How are we supposed to get together if I don’t even know where I can find you, where and when?” you continued to ask. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand me anymore. There is no understanding without togetherness, and your eyes were clouded. Now I could see it. Because I dared. Still dared.

“How much this world has already taken hold of you! How much have you let yourself be wrapped up, lulled like a swaddled baby. Do you want to pull out your smartphone now? Should I tell you a time and a place, preferably with coordinates? Should I tie you to the place that you can describe with a single picture? Should I tie you to a point in the bar of time information? Are you satisfied then? And you make a note, between pedicure and tennis lesson. Can you squeeze me in somewhere? Can you still fit me in?” I asked, and you seemed even more perplexed.
“How else is it going to work? What have I done wrong?” and there was seriousness in your words and concern and empathy with your own helplessness. I wanted to be gentle, but you make it so difficult for me, sometimes, you make it so unbearably difficult. Gentle. Kindly. Sometimes it works.
“You still found me. You must ask me. There is no country, no place, except the one that is us, that is us, in which we find ourselves, if it is to be, immeasurable and consecrated to eternity. We have still found ourselves, and the place is a non-place that we have conceived, experienced, brought into being, that we make, that makes us. The place of togetherness is an expression of our work on each other. A symbol of the imperishable in the midst of strange transience, into infinity and beyond. More than everything. All simplicity. Becoming and existing and passing away. Circles that draw. Side by side, separate. One within the other. United. Intersections, and the connection that lives in us, that lives us. If you subject it to time, you subject it to transience. You and me and us. If you let it be, just be, then it becomes an unnamed moment of beyond all time. There you will find me. That’s where I’ll find you,” I reminded you, and I saw how a remembrance flowed through you and washed away all the armor you had experienced and accepted. You were back.
“I will find you. You will find me. We will be. It’s as if the rain covered me with mud and the tears washed it away again. Constantly flowing, while and revitalizing. You gave me back to me,” you said, finally breathing again, deep and alive, finally again. And you dared to try your wings, dared to see if they were deceiving you. Steadily you rose, lifted yourself into the sky.
“We will find each other,” whispered my lips and the word became a kiss.