2025-07-10, 02:11 PM
"You really noticed that back then?" We made ourselves comfortable in my small apartment. Outside, it is already dark; after all, it's December—two weeks before Christmas, the festival of love. How fitting. Maybe he didn't really notice, but somehow he sensed it. "Even when you didn't know I was gay?" I'm surprised and fascinated at the same time. Yes, all along, or at least since the beginning of the year.
The beginning of the year! The university party. An incredible evening. By then, I had started to slowly but surely completely fall for him. We had danced for a long time—no, not with each other, but together—and I wished that the party would never end. When it eventually had to come to an end, it got even better. I was there as a helper for the party and had to help with the cleanup a bit. He immediately offered to help without being asked, and we carried beer tables together. Carried? No, the tables and benches actually floated, almost magically, with me on cloud nine.
At some point, much too early for the first subway, we slipped away and ended up on a waiting bench. How I wished I could lean against him and cuddle in his arms back then, but I wasn't able to say anything to him—not yet. That would take almost a year. So he sensed it back then... The way I looked at him, he explained to me.
I can still remember the conversation very clearly. Whether it would be worse to lose hearing or eyesight. What a topic for four in the morning! But somehow, it was just right—at least the right thing to finally enchant me. A very typical conversation for him, as I would later realize. I've never been able to talk so profoundly about seemingly unimportant topics with anyone else. Recently, we pondered whether it would be easier to build a raft or a canoe if stranded on a deserted island.
Yes, that was on that memorable evening eight days ago. We had met at the winter festival in the evening, strolled through the tents with booths, and eventually got stuck in the food tent. At some point, we ended up discussing love, whether I believed in it, he asked me. Admittedly, I am somewhat skeptical about love. Sure, it exists, and life wouldn't be half as beautiful without it, but so far, I've mostly experienced love as something tragic. Love that remains unanswered on one side, relationships that are doomed from the start because one confuses a little affection with true love on the other. At least that's how it has always been for me until now. Now we both sit here in my apartment. I look at him. How beautiful he is!
Objectively, he might not be a dream man, but to me, he is. I like his deep eyes. I like his silky, medium-length hair, his beautiful mouth, with which he says so many intelligent things. He is not as superficial as many others. I believe that primarily it is this that I have fallen so inappropriately in love with him. It’s not superficialities, but rather his character and charm that captivate me.
When we briefly go to the supermarket to get something to eat, he suggests a ready-made lasagna. "I love unhealthy food the most." I have to smile and love him a little more. How could he have enchanted me so? Whatever he says, I am fascinated by it. Even more so, I am fascinated by his silence. "The beautiful thing about us is that we can also just be quiet without everyone desperately searching for something to say. Then, in that moment, it's just right to say nothing." What a simple yet enchanting observation we made last week. Normally, I hate such situations when you've been talking and suddenly no one knows what to say anymore. With him, it's different. We just understand each other; you don't always need words.
Just like now, as we sit across from each other after dinner, each lost in our thoughts. I can't help but look at him dreamily. His eyes, his hair, his mouth. I love him and can't help it. Involuntarily, I have to laugh. "I still can't believe I really did that. I've never done anything like that before." It really was a bold move, but somehow it just had to happen. As sure as I was about my feelings after that evening, I remained unclear about his. Finally, after days, I gathered all my courage and sat down to write him a letter. A real love letter—the first in my life.
"That really made me happy, to receive a proper letter like that." I can't help but grin. – "I also put a lot of effort into it." He grins back. In the most beautiful handwriting I could manage, I had written almost two pages of text on paper, in which I not only confessed my love to him but also explained how I came to have serious hopes. It was important to me; it shouldn't look completely thoughtless. In the end, I was quite satisfied with my work. The next day – the day before yesterday – I invited him to go to the cinema with me and a few other people and handed him the letter as we said goodbye. It's incredible that I managed to get through it without any second thoughts, considering how excited I was all evening.
Then came the anxious waiting. That evening at the winter festival, when we had sat at the table for a long time after dinner and somehow got onto the topic of love, he had asked me in a serious voice if I was looking for something lasting. From that moment on, I couldn't hold back anymore. That question, along with all the other clues, could only mean one thing. There had been an immense tension in the air for the rest of the evening. But then, when I later tried to probe a little, he had, for the first time since I met him, clearly stated that he was heterosexual. That couldn't possibly fit together. Maybe he was just unsure of himself, or perhaps he was just afraid to come out, or maybe I was just piecing together complete nonsense. Anything was possible, and I was waiting to see what he would say.
He understands me, understands my thought processes, can empathize exactly with how I must have felt. "I would have found a short text message simply inappropriate," he explains to me. We agree on that. I had already considered whether I should include my email address in the letter – for some reason, we had never emailed each other despite knowing each other for over a year. I realize that I don't even know his last name. Love doesn't need a name. But it does need an email address to be able to write more than 160 characters. So all I received to read after I finally dared to open his text yesterday, after much hesitation, was the question about that very address.
Again, the waiting. It could mean anything or nothing. A love declaration via text message is tasteless, a rejection via text message is just as bad. Does a rejection via email really have more style? I don't know. After all, I had also confessed my love to him in written form. At least his rejection was the nicest one I could have imagined. "I should probably be disappointed and devastated right now, but I'm not," I wrote back to him, still completely unable to accept what I had just read and simultaneously still completely captivated by him. A text like only he could write. A soulmate connection? Me, in his eyes, a fascinating person? It all sounded so wonderful, even though it actually represented a disaster for me.
The beginning of the year! The university party. An incredible evening. By then, I had started to slowly but surely completely fall for him. We had danced for a long time—no, not with each other, but together—and I wished that the party would never end. When it eventually had to come to an end, it got even better. I was there as a helper for the party and had to help with the cleanup a bit. He immediately offered to help without being asked, and we carried beer tables together. Carried? No, the tables and benches actually floated, almost magically, with me on cloud nine.
At some point, much too early for the first subway, we slipped away and ended up on a waiting bench. How I wished I could lean against him and cuddle in his arms back then, but I wasn't able to say anything to him—not yet. That would take almost a year. So he sensed it back then... The way I looked at him, he explained to me.
I can still remember the conversation very clearly. Whether it would be worse to lose hearing or eyesight. What a topic for four in the morning! But somehow, it was just right—at least the right thing to finally enchant me. A very typical conversation for him, as I would later realize. I've never been able to talk so profoundly about seemingly unimportant topics with anyone else. Recently, we pondered whether it would be easier to build a raft or a canoe if stranded on a deserted island.
Yes, that was on that memorable evening eight days ago. We had met at the winter festival in the evening, strolled through the tents with booths, and eventually got stuck in the food tent. At some point, we ended up discussing love, whether I believed in it, he asked me. Admittedly, I am somewhat skeptical about love. Sure, it exists, and life wouldn't be half as beautiful without it, but so far, I've mostly experienced love as something tragic. Love that remains unanswered on one side, relationships that are doomed from the start because one confuses a little affection with true love on the other. At least that's how it has always been for me until now. Now we both sit here in my apartment. I look at him. How beautiful he is!
Objectively, he might not be a dream man, but to me, he is. I like his deep eyes. I like his silky, medium-length hair, his beautiful mouth, with which he says so many intelligent things. He is not as superficial as many others. I believe that primarily it is this that I have fallen so inappropriately in love with him. It’s not superficialities, but rather his character and charm that captivate me.
When we briefly go to the supermarket to get something to eat, he suggests a ready-made lasagna. "I love unhealthy food the most." I have to smile and love him a little more. How could he have enchanted me so? Whatever he says, I am fascinated by it. Even more so, I am fascinated by his silence. "The beautiful thing about us is that we can also just be quiet without everyone desperately searching for something to say. Then, in that moment, it's just right to say nothing." What a simple yet enchanting observation we made last week. Normally, I hate such situations when you've been talking and suddenly no one knows what to say anymore. With him, it's different. We just understand each other; you don't always need words.
Just like now, as we sit across from each other after dinner, each lost in our thoughts. I can't help but look at him dreamily. His eyes, his hair, his mouth. I love him and can't help it. Involuntarily, I have to laugh. "I still can't believe I really did that. I've never done anything like that before." It really was a bold move, but somehow it just had to happen. As sure as I was about my feelings after that evening, I remained unclear about his. Finally, after days, I gathered all my courage and sat down to write him a letter. A real love letter—the first in my life.
"That really made me happy, to receive a proper letter like that." I can't help but grin. – "I also put a lot of effort into it." He grins back. In the most beautiful handwriting I could manage, I had written almost two pages of text on paper, in which I not only confessed my love to him but also explained how I came to have serious hopes. It was important to me; it shouldn't look completely thoughtless. In the end, I was quite satisfied with my work. The next day – the day before yesterday – I invited him to go to the cinema with me and a few other people and handed him the letter as we said goodbye. It's incredible that I managed to get through it without any second thoughts, considering how excited I was all evening.
Then came the anxious waiting. That evening at the winter festival, when we had sat at the table for a long time after dinner and somehow got onto the topic of love, he had asked me in a serious voice if I was looking for something lasting. From that moment on, I couldn't hold back anymore. That question, along with all the other clues, could only mean one thing. There had been an immense tension in the air for the rest of the evening. But then, when I later tried to probe a little, he had, for the first time since I met him, clearly stated that he was heterosexual. That couldn't possibly fit together. Maybe he was just unsure of himself, or perhaps he was just afraid to come out, or maybe I was just piecing together complete nonsense. Anything was possible, and I was waiting to see what he would say.
He understands me, understands my thought processes, can empathize exactly with how I must have felt. "I would have found a short text message simply inappropriate," he explains to me. We agree on that. I had already considered whether I should include my email address in the letter – for some reason, we had never emailed each other despite knowing each other for over a year. I realize that I don't even know his last name. Love doesn't need a name. But it does need an email address to be able to write more than 160 characters. So all I received to read after I finally dared to open his text yesterday, after much hesitation, was the question about that very address.
Again, the waiting. It could mean anything or nothing. A love declaration via text message is tasteless, a rejection via text message is just as bad. Does a rejection via email really have more style? I don't know. After all, I had also confessed my love to him in written form. At least his rejection was the nicest one I could have imagined. "I should probably be disappointed and devastated right now, but I'm not," I wrote back to him, still completely unable to accept what I had just read and simultaneously still completely captivated by him. A text like only he could write. A soulmate connection? Me, in his eyes, a fascinating person? It all sounded so wonderful, even though it actually represented a disaster for me.