Walking is something so concrete and yet it remains uncertain what it awakens in us or whether it brings us to a rest. It becomes a multiplicity. I like that. So I like walking. I also love running. I also like it when walking turns into running. I like it when my throat feels dry, even parched, from running. But sometimes I also like to walk very slowly.

In November, I meet a friend in a café in Hamburg. I drink carbonated water, he drinks tea. I haven’t seen him for a long time and the distance between us that has developed over time makes me realize how much has changed. I search for words because I want to tell him about it. The most important part of this for me is to describe my interactions with myself and others – we are both searching. Love? Devotion? Emotionally invested, affectionate, loving? Or a combination of all of these? I’m suddenly becoming so small-minded.

I love walking on my own. I like jumping from one ground slab groove to another ground slab groove, from bollard to bollard or from leaf to leaf. I like balancing on small walls and on the poles that are fixed to the ground, for example the ones you can attach bicycles to. I like to create or distort noises by walking. For example, I like to jump on dry leaves and rotten branches to hear the crackling.

We seem to attach memories to every word as soon as we use it. With associations, we make them our own, they become ciphers of our experiences, and we can therefore use them more intuitively. When we dance with them, we can hardly avoid getting to know them properly. However, dancing so much can also make us overconfident. In complete arrogance, I faced words that I hadn’t known about for too long; I found them old-fashioned or pathetic.

I like to pick up snippets of conversations as I walk past. I also like to close my eyes. I find myself to be quite entertaining while walking. Sometimes I just wait. I like to walk when I have to wait. I like the ticking noise of a traffic light when I’m waiting there during a walk. I like waiting for something, knowing the exact time it will start. 

Sometimes I observe how an “emotional word” can make someone emotional. Maybe that’s how it is with the paraphrases of intense feelings… they are penalized words. Their meanings open up individual pathways to new sensations, always in combination with the fear they cause of not experiencing those very sensations, not to mention losing them. It’s a bit much, isn’t it?

I like to walk when it’s just starting to rain. I often look at the ground while I’m walking and up in the air when I stop. Every time I put my head back to look at a bird, I’m afraid that the bird will peck me in the eye and blind me. I keep looking up anyway. When I go for a walk, I often end up lying on the grass. And when I’m not walking, I like to look out of my window. And watch in secret.

My grandad once asked me when I was visiting him and didn’t want to go home whether I wanted to come back. I answered with a yes. He then said that I would have to go away first.

Then we said goodbye to each other.