I feel like you're screaming at me to stop loving you, talking to you, looking for you, dreaming about you.
Teach me to do it, teach me to look at your hands without desire, to look at them and feel that they are just another cold bridge to cross.
Teach me to love you without wanting to have you, without needing you to want me.
Teach me to dream of you as a companion, as someone with whom you walk a gap and parting is inevitable.
Teach me to talk to you without telling you that you are all the magic of the world in a flower that fell by the wind on my way, so without a reason, by the simple nature in which autumns dismiss their flowers.
Teach me to look for you only as a consolation, as one more shoulder that promises that everything will be all right, but that will go away, that will stop supporting me and will walk on another sidewalk.
Teach me to love you as you love me, unconditionally but with shared dreams, individual, without the need to be shared.
Teach me to love you like a sparkle that illuminates, but that will fade, that will be extinguished.
Because you won't be mine, because you won't let me be yours.
Photography by Lars Wastfelt