And that is what I would like to tell my younger self as well

Many years ago, I stood in Prague on Národní třída—back then it wasn't a built-up area yet—and was saying goodbye to an important man in my life.

Shortly before, I had proposed to the lawyer Norbertin Wilg in the restaurant of the MAT cinema, but he refused. Perhaps because we had never truly dated, and perhaps because we spent most of our time together on the phone.

In any case, his refusal shook me up, tears literally as big as peas were rolling down my cheeks—but in the kiss he gave me as a farewell (our first and at the same time last)—there was so much love that even a cold-hearted person would have seen the light—and known—right at that moment—that in that refusal there was a gift of love.

And many days later still, I am shoveling manure in Oslovice behind the barn, in the meadow, from a wheelbarrow, onto the manure pile, and suddenly—I look—and the engagement ring has vanished from my finger—the one I bought and with which I proposed to Norbertin. Not even Kranti's comforting could stop my agonizing crying. How much left—with a single ring—which was never found again, and quite possibly, now years later, when someone else lives in Oslovice, the most improbable creature imaginable will stumble upon it. A hobbit.

*

So much left, probably about as much as left with the kitten I had to have put to sleep at the veterinarian's—at the time when I was supposed to move to Budapest. Someone poisoned our kittens—with something, somewhere, just as someone once poisoned our dog. The veterinarian shook his head at how many tears I shed over that poor kitten. He thought I had a warm relationship with it because it was my darling—but it was one kitten among many, yet it was the first time I was deciding over life and death.

There seems to me to be something similar in it—with what has passed away.

*

And so began my life in Budapest. To this day I like to remember it – even though in my grieving Budapest dissolved – for it was my great love. I never thought I could fall in love with a place – but my first home – my first independent life – flying solo – was right there – and it was like an infant's first breath!

In Budapest – the city of spas – I found so many opportunities to enjoy myself with handsome men – and when I saw men in loincloths around their waists at the Rudas Baths – I had the impression that I had returned to the past – that I had experienced this somewhere before.

I expressed my love for Budapest in the song In love, which I published on YouTube. It is all about falling in love – and about how Budapest became my life partner – something I only realized when it dumped me back into Bohemia.

It took me three or four years to get it out of my head.

No, that wouldn't do. I was still drawn and lured back to it – and only when I lived in Desná, and only when I finished reading the final lines of the book Call Me by Your Name – did the dream of Budapest finally quiet down.

I honored my love for it – with that very song.

In Budapest my – favorite collection – Na hřbetu kentaura was created. It is the last time so far that Love has inspired my work – up to this very day – when Rajneesh's love guides my hand in writing these lines.

VODITEL
When the lamps go out
and the stage disappears into the dark,
the floor is drenched by the downpour of my dark tears,
tears darker than Budapest nights,
and you are the one who commands them.

Love that is painful drives a person to deal with it on paper. Whoever has not known the pain of love—the pain of life—will hardly produce anything deeper—and that is what I would like to convey to my younger self, who attempted some sort of juvenilia at the age of fifteen.