I am at work. The way the ring glides on my finger, when I move my hand, because it is one size too big for me. The tiniest touch in the world. The feel of the glasses. Their weight. The gestures, repeated so often, that they have acquired a certain degree of elegance and swiftness. But inside my body, the tear and wear, of repeating them so often. Pain and strained muscles. And in my mind, this great, vast loneliness. Why, otherwise, would I notice something as small as the movement of my ring? It is my only reality, in that moment. I am so well trained. No one would ever notice my insanity. It’s part of the pleasure. Theirs, because they don’t have to think about my pain. Mine, because I am locked in this absolute personal ideal world, where my ring touches me more than them.

I lost someone today. Not in the sense of dead, but they left me, so they might as well be dead. Customers at work tell me constantly about their struggles, their diseases, their losses. I greet them with a smile, and a drink, I listen to their stories. They are not interested in me personally, at all. They just want somebody who can receive what they came to deliver. That position suits me, in a way, because I know a lot about pain, and I am good at listening. They do want to hear something more personal, occasionally. So I tell them about pony. My pony. I’ve never loved anyone like I’ve loved pony. But which pony? I’ve had many, by now. The last one died. I’ve named this blog after him, because I created it a month after he died. A kind of memorial. 

More than that, an incentive to write. Inspiration comes from love, and I’ve loved him like I’ve never loved a human person before. With him, I dared let myself go to this foolish degree of trust and tenderness… It lasted for years. Pony and me, we went to different countries, we rode on boats, mountains, rivers, and he gave me an absolute sense of security, like we could discover the world together. When we were on the road, he was my only friend, but also my anchor, my home, my partner. People, after hearing my stories, would often ask: “and you went there, alone?”. And I would always answer, “no, of course not. With pony!”. I never feel completely alone, when he is around. I know his shape, his body. When I make a stop on the road, and I come out of the shop, and I see him waiting for me, all geared up, my tent on the back, I always get that tingly giggly feeling in my stomach. Pony! He gives me the two most important things in my life: the sense of being carried, and absolute freedom. I have never met a person who could give me both feelings at the same time They are also almost impossible to combine. So, in that sense, pony is absolutely unique. The places we’ve been to! The things we have seen! It’s all very modest, of course. Pony and me, we have never sought fame, and we are slow travelers. Yet, sometimes, it felt as if we were on top of the Himalaya. Just that image, when I would stop for a cigarette on a hill somewhere. I remember one, in particular, in France, where the road was so steep, that whilst driving up, you could not see the other side, only a bright, blue, wide sky. I felt like pony and me were just driving up into that sky, and I thought to myself: take a mental picture of this, now, this moment, and carry it around with you. Visualise it, when customers are straining your attention. Keep it! It was so surrealistic and vivid. And all the time, pony was carrying me. With his heartless, mechanical, engine, you would say. But no, no, he had a soul…we were doing this together…

Pony is my anchor, because he was present with me in those moments, and without him, I wouldn’t have made those memories. So this blog is about him, and thanks to him, also, about all the other things that I have loved, or felt loved by. Just before defending my thesis on Sartre, they sent the final version back to me and said: what about love? Do you agree that Sartre has only negative views about it? We would like a positive conclusion. So I included a short section called “Sartre on Love”, with a semi-positive outcome, to please my jury. But this blog is not about Sartre, my doctorate, or anyone who has ever been critical about me. On the contrary, it will be fiercely personal. I owe it to pony.