I can hardly remember the autumn of ‘89. My sympathy for this tall man with these blue eyes must have increased more and more. In November at least I knew that I had fallen in love. From a girl in my class I had coaxed a poster of him. It was already dawning and drizzling a bit when I went home on this day. I cupped my hands around the folded picture in my pocket, I was all over the moon. And surely my heart wasn’t beating that fast only because I was running...
When I went to sleep in the evening, I placed the picture on the board beside my bed and was just looking at him a long time. But than after a while I pressed a first shy kiss on the paper. He had caught me. For a very long time...

Well, what kind of music are you listening to in your private time? Once I had read that you like Bruce Springsteen. What else? To which genre do you tend to? Oh I would like it so much to rummage in your collection. Maybe there is one or another album I would also enjoy.
That I don’t belong to the target audience of your own productions was already clear to me a long time ago. Hadn’t I been in love with you, I suppose I never would have bought any album or CD from you. But perhaps it is possible to hear music with you besides commercial intents. Or is this still another projection, a wishful thought, a phantasm of my memories, brought up to fill the emptiness behind your posters, together with many other imaginations about your person.

Many questions are crossing my mind. - What do you like to read? - Can you cook? - Which car are you driving? - What is your political attitude? - Do you like cats? - What are you doing in your free time? - Have you ever been in Ireland? - Do you philosophize about the sense of life? - Do you listen to Pink Floyd? - How are you, beyond the media?





Many things in life happen right in that moment when you just don’t anticipate it any more. One of that is to look into your eyes. Not through the media, on a paper or on television, but really and truly.
Completely unexpected our eyes met, among a lot of other people you were sitting at an airport, suddenly looking at me, by chance, only a second or a fraction of it, but for me the time stood still, the heart stood still.
Everything else became out of focus, zoomed away, the matrix-effect. And in your eyes was the answer to my unspoken question - Yes, it’s me!
I want to pick up my camera and take a photo from you. Everything is happening just like a slow motion. I have a long telephoto, it bridges the distance between us, maximum aperture that everything else would be blurred. Only your eyes, your beautiful clear eyes are important. Just before I press the release button, I think:
‘If you would agree to that?’ But than you are smiling in my camera.
A short controlling view at the display - a wonderful picture.
‘Later I’ll convert that to black-and-white.’
Than you beckon me over.

In this moment the dream ends. Near every time I dreamed of you, it was ending before it really had begun.

At the same moment when yearning finds its fulfillment, it is dying .

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