LBE is a series of essays exploring heartbreak, grief, tending to old wounds, reclaiming longing and fearing getting stuck there. I believe it is also my first memoir being written. I have no idea where I am going ! But I promise to keep you posted about what it means to write a memoir.
Here you can read last installments:
Introduction Part 1: new place, old wounds
Introduction Part 2: Part 2: kissing as art practice
I am the kind of person who knows they’re falling in love before it happens. It arrives as a premonition in the body. A sudden lift at the corners of my mouth when I hear their voice. A craving for their skin before I’ve tasted it. It lives in the quiet wonder that rises like steam from a cup of tea: how would their hands feel on my back?
I rarely fall in love. But when I do, it follows a pattern. After years spent piecing myself back together—diving into the existential wounds of my ancestral lines and resurfacing with reconciliations that would frighten even Hades—I fall. Usually on a random Tuesday afternoon.
This time, it was a Tuesday in early spring, in Berlin. I hated my hair. The taxi driver refused to drop my friends and me where he was supposed to. Just another mildly irritating Tuesday in a city that specialized in them.
Except it was the opening of my first solo exhibition for my tarot deck.
Except it would be the second time I met them.
