real love

by walterdoege

almost touchable, love…love is not imagination…love is not a movement dance between words…better between worlds…image, symbols and far away, real…love is real…like pain…I named love in movement as loving…loving is experience love…love is a real loving experience…loving is a touchable  shared experience…love is real as water and air…cause love is…not was…not will be…love is…not a dream…not a project…not a schedule…not a programmation…love is not a word…love is the ground of warmth, kindness, goodness…love is my skin…my deepest me…me now…not past me…not will be me…love is the motif of loving real generating realities, but all uncountable realities are one solely one loving expression…not only a word, a strong sentiment…an amorous crucible…my writings is being my second skin…cause I write more than I read…writing is blues improvisation…reading is listening the voice of love…not exactly my voice, but my voice too…cause it is of little importance the literature…what is decisive is emotion, sentiment, senses…love is not the real, but a condition to face the real…writer as dreamer…not…writer as a worker…writing is my second skin…analyse literature is not the same as writing and reading …as a writer I have nothing to say…writing is my mistress and my trial for facing finitude…loving is me and you and the life…the life and yonder…beyond the last goodbye, loving…now, seems to me eternity…no beginning…no end…just loving…it is a matter of art, creating loving realities