The suitcase generation

All the things without which you cannot live, you can put them in a suitcase. A small one even. Little little suitcase, tell me what it is that you are hiding from me, and I’ll promise to take you with me, wherever I go, for I am going somewhere, you know I cannot stay here.
Slowing down, slowing down. Take your suitcase with you because you’re nothing without it. The suitcase is you and not the contrary. Little little suitcase, tell me now and don’t wait, why I have to leave and why I put all these things in you and why you are me and why I can’t be me without you. I mean in Germany. A constant go and return, the suitcase is a part of you, or rather you. You can’t help it.

It is not the things in the case but the scent in your head the noise in your hand the chew in your nails the thoughts in your skin the hope in your veins.

There is always hope mind you, otherwise we wouldn’t come here looking for something else, something new, something more. I mean in Germany. It was the frenetic laugh and not reflection that brought me here. The best decisions are those which are unreflected, otherwise you’ll never move. Reflect too much and you’ll see, you don’t know what you felt like in the first place any more. I know I’m frenetic, so like a river, I can’t write a book.
You wanna come here? Then do so. But mind you, you’ll stop knowing where you belong to. No more roots, no more you, no more me, no more things, no more then. Only here and there, here and there. The nice things that you remember, now double. I forgot to put some sugar in the coffee, so scared that I was. Simply because I was moving. If only I knew where to.

It is not the place where you go to but the noise in your head the chew of your hand the thoughts in your nails the scent of your skin the hope in your veins.

Maybe that one stain.