Sabina and my German Shepherd
If I were ovine, Tim would be my shepherd. Woof! He’s a distant relative from Hamburg. And a constant reminder. About the history of sheep. On the way to the slaughter. About wolves and (wo)men. We should never forget. He says. All the time. Even when we’re having fun. Or trying to have. Fucking fun. History jumps. Into your face. In Germany. All the time. — In memoriam of Sabina.
In case you wonder. In case you want her. Fuck no! We didn’t. Have fun. That night. In Hamburg. Fucking sheep. Fucking cheap. 39 Euro flat rate. Tight isn’t right. At the “Geiz Club”. No wellCum to the Greed Club.
Mr Mosley. May be. Into it. I am. Definitively not.
That’s here, where I met her. What a show! Dedicated to me. It felt so real.
Sabina. Bitter-sweet love of my life.
I stayed. With her. For four months. Leaving everything behind. Everything but my heart. Before she left me. Out of the blue. Tim had predicted it. I was too blind to see.
She was with everybody back then. Every body. But her own. Online and in real life. She said, she would quit. Because of me, “saving angel sent from above”. But then this fucking snapper came along and took her. Abusing her. By word and deed. “That’s what she wants, pussyboy!” he told me. Arty A*****, crude pornographer of her soul, aka cloudster, cloudster69, cloudster4eva.
“Sorry, Benny!”, she said, “I’m with him now.” And that I were too “blue-eyed”—the German word for “naive”, as I had to learn, crying my green eyes out—too lovely, too weak, too sweet and understanding, as least for her, looking for grand emotions, till the bitter end if necessary.
We could stay friends, she said, and I tried to be. Her best friend. But Tim told me to stay away, to stay alive—and I hardly did.
She married her abuser, after six (!) Chinese weeks, and now she’s dead. Hong Kong suicide, committed by him, cold hearted tormenter of her soul.
Rest in peace, Sabina.
Tim, my German Shepherd, saved my live. I couldn’t save hers.