yang shen

Dear Gabriella,

I’ve been meaning to write to you for the past few weeks. 
I somehow kept getting lost in my own thoughts.

I don’t know Gabriella.
There were days where I feel very connected to where I am and who I am;
And there were days where I find time goes by so slowly — too slow.
I don’t know if it’s the landscape of Weimar or it is because I have mostly stayed in my room.

Gabriella, the more that I try to put down my words for you, 
the more that I feel I should say something meaningful.
I am lost for words — nor thoughts.

Tomorrow, the books that I have borrowed from the library are due.
For four weeks, they sat silently on the edge of my window; 
I have not opened them since the first day I borrowed them  — and laid them down.

Something is bothering me.
I think I know what it is, but I’m just not sure if I want to share them right now.
Maybe this is why I have stopped writing to you — I am not sure that I am understanding my thoughts and they seem too abstract to be spoken. 
I feel a sense of responsibility when words become concrete letters; 
Do you also feel that way?

If I hold my thoughts just a little bit longer in my mind;
I have a chance to be with them, care for them — hide them, escape them.
Yet, they often slip through as silences between my sentences.

One could just tell, could they not?
One could just feel that something is off — 
when those pauses lengthen;
become heavier and denser. 
One could just know, could they not?

Gabriella, I have been thinking a lot about love. 
Have you ever been in love?
How did it feel like for you?
What does being in love mean to you?
I imagined that in your time, people do not fall in and out of love so easily, do they?
I guess they do but I guess they would choose to stay; I guess leaving was not an option.
The great masters, artists, painted about love!
— Wrote love!
— Expressed love!
— Some are even obsessed with love!
— Obsessed with the obsession of love!

Gabriella, I want to know what love means.
— How does it look like?
— How does it feel like?
— Can I see it?
— Can I touch it?
— Can I smell it?

If love is a physical object, does it then also morph, change, and leave?
I imagine love travels in between the spaces of air.
At a very spontaneous moment, it lands and finds its host — 
It overtakes the shell of a human body;
— Or an object;
— Or a thought.

Once it finds its host, it completely takes over;
Every molecules are invaded 
— Violated 
— Interrupted 
— Disarranged
— Confused
— Convulsed.

It expands and expands and expands until it;
— Explodes!
— Separates!
— Disarm!
— and procreated.

Until it;
— Completely
— Perfectly
— Thoroughly
— Unconditionally
takes over the host.

Is that the reason why people often express their emotion of falling in love as feeling sick?
I wish that falling in love is not as disturbing as it sounds; just like I wish getting a virus is as exciting as it sounds;
— As if we are going on an adventure; beginning from the bottom of a mountain and slowly hiking forward.
Yet, what do we do at the top of the mountain?
Are we there to simply look at the view for a few moments; or are we there to set up camp?
Or do we take a few photographs so we can show others that we have finally reached the goal.

Goals?
Yes.
We have been there.
We are still here.
Positive that we do not have to do the climb again.

Wait a second —
Or is this a mountain with an endless climb?
Do we ever reach the top; or a view?
Is there an end to this journey?
Or is it the illusion of the journey with a pleasing ending that that kept us;
— Going
— Craving 
— Giving 
— Thirsting
— Crawling
— Strolling
To the magnificent sublime.

Gabriella, I feel that the sublime is meant to be destroyed. The sublime needs to be destroyed. If we have finally seen the sublime, then what would be the point to continue? If we have seen the sublime, will we want to travel back? Or would we rather lay in this vast land of beauty and soundly fall asleep? 

If we all have fallen asleep, where would we go then? 
How do we engrave more paths for others to also experience the sublime?
We cannot.
It has to be destroyed.

Gabriella, I do not know what I am speaking of anymore.
I hope, and I know,
You would understand the words between my lines,
confusion 
and confession.
You would understand.

Last night, I had a dream of a body of water.
The body of water sits on top of my house; 
The surface of the body of water tenderly sits a thin layer of protection
— a transparent mold that holds it all together.

The body of water sits on top of my house; 
The surface of the body of water tenderly folds and hangs over the edge
— a transparent mold that holds it all together. 
In my dream, I did not feel as if I was dreaming. I only thought that it was a miracle! I was so mesmerized by the body of water that I could not move nor take my sight off it. 

I stood in awe.

A few long moments passed,
— Paused
— Gone by,
I have a realization that —I need to use the body of water.
It is my survival.
It is the only body of water left for me to use.
I have to break the transparent mold; that sits tenderly on the surface of the body of water.
The transparency and its reflection 
— The sublime.
My standing in awe very quickly turned into frustration and stress.

What kind of person would I be to break this body of water?
— To break the sublime?
— To destroy the sublime?

If I were to not, I simply could not survive.
How cruel is this, for me to have to make this decision?
How cruel is that, this body of water displays such extreme beauty?

I broke the body of water.

The moment that the body of water broke, it pours down; and tenderly runs through every surface of my skin.
A rush of pure joy — I feel relieved,
— Released
— Taken
— Embraced

I am free. I am free from this horrifying constellation of a decision.

In what feels like a blink of an eye, 
the body of water flows into every direction

— It left me forever; never to come back. 
Away from me; never to come back.

Some parts of the pieces of water stayed on my skin, stayed on the strains of my hair; as I held up my arms against my chest
— as if I am trying to hold onto or to seize what can be held or seized;
it slips right through my fingers; 

— It left me forever; never to come back. 
Away from me; never to come back.

In what feels like a blink of an eye,
The body of water evaporates into my surroundings.
I will never again feel its existence.
All that is left is a gentle layer sitting on the surface of my palms. 
It will soon, very soon, evaporates;

Away from me; never to come back.

Gabrielle, I do not think that we forget what happened in life, we only cannot remember.
What good does it do if we remember?

But I remember it was beautiful, 
It was the Sublime.

All My Best,
Yang

December 12, 2022