if it weren’t too late to sear with salt the uncountable days, so uselessly torn into pieces the fixed photo of the moment after, I could simulate this
We photograph ourselves more and more often. We seem to be forever happy, always smiling, holding each other by the shoulders, we portray ourselves in impressive
Language For each occasion, love has its own language. For example: that soft lightness of your temple against my shoulder or the haste of your dress to fall
I escape into your magic tent love In the breathing forest where grass tops are bowing Because there is nothing more beautiful Rose Ausländer (1901 – 1988) Translation