[Illustration by Manuel Schmucker]

I love you.

Yes, yes…I know l we don’t know each other. In fact, I don’t even know what you look like. Not really sure which shape you are.

But this is exactly why I love you: you see, if I knew you, I would probably not love you. If you knew me, surely you wouldn’t love me. 

You know what they say: “I’d like to know you better.”

NO! It’s always worse. 

NOT  knowing each other is better. Because a person you don’t know cannot disappont you.

And I will never disappoint you.

Because, as long as you don’t know me, you can always fantasise that I’m different. While if you got to know me, you’ll discover I’m the same. The same as the others, or worse, the same as you. Soul mate and soul twin.

While if we keep on not dating, we’ll never get together. And if we never get together, we’ll never break up.

It’s everybody’s story: you meet a person, and fall in love. Then you get to know them  better, and you’d love to piss on their shoes.

You see why it’s different between us? Because I don’t know your shitty taste, you bullshit ideals… I don’t even know your name.

That’s why it can work between us. The secret of eternal love is this: remain strangers.

Eva Brown stayed at Hitler’s side because she thought until the very end he still painted watercolours. Even when, at the end, he suggested that they both committed suicide, she didn’t suspect anything, she must have thought “it’s typical of artists to have this kind of romantic ideas.”

Love is blind, so you and I will never see each other, I promise.

Ours will be an eternal long-distance relationship. Isn’t that romantic? We’ll go to Venice, Paris… I’ll go to Venice and you’ll go to Paris, it’ll be wonderful. 

Sex with me will be amazing, because with me it’ll be sex with a stranger. But to let it be as such, we’ll never do anything, it’ll be platonic sex. We’ll never talk. It’ll be perfect. 

Whoever you are, whatever you’ll do… I don’t know. Nor I want to know. As you can see, I’m not even jealous. It’s simply that you’re special to me. I finally feel good with you, because tonight you can shag whoever you want, or being ran over by a car.

I mean, don’t get the wrong end of the stick, if you’d die, I’d be sorry.

But also not.

I mean, I’d be sorry for you..  but to me… relatively. With all respect, but I don’t know you.

You see why it works? Because with you I’m not anxious, I’m not scared about losing you… who the fuck are you?

Thanks for being you. Because if you weren’t… meh.