Fins blue, reminiscent humming and espresso in the belly button.

Me tears are running down my cheek. The water washes them away. And I keep swimming on. Just now it became clear to me that the end had come. The gentle green tone of the algae, the glitter of the sun's rays in the water, the grey, moss-covered stone that silently yet so vividly adorns the riverbank. The sulphurous smell. The lime deposits in the pores.

I will not see it, smell it, taste it, feel it anymore.

The gentle current. The five-toed feet that glide from stone to stone and disturb the peace. The floating bottle, from which the last drops of beer flow into the cool water. My home, the security of curves I know all too well. The noise of the bunker ship downstream. Every now and then something falls in. A ring, a bottle cap, the last piece of döner meat, a bicycle saddle and chunks of stone from a statue. Blub…

On some days I play hide-and-seek with the kayak paddles. Many a night the rise and fall from the approaching ships wakes me. Gives me a fright and makes my eyelids flutter hectically; sudden gasping for breath.

When I was still two nearly three years ago, could play tag instead of hide-and-seek, it felt warmer. Now I love the time here too. See the strangest things plop in, laugh at the distorted faces. But back then it was warm. Then came the time when the water wiped the tears from my cheeks. I had to learn to find the strange funny on my own. At first the laughter left me. Got stuck in my throat like too large a falafel chunk. I kept getting tangled in the plant remains, lost my way and sometimes didn't dare venture further than a fin's length out. But then, when I watched espresso being sipped from a hairy belly button at the jetty, shrill laughter left my fishy lips. Not only my own burst of laughter echoed through my flesh.

No, the city lets me hear more. The bubbling, the cawing of crows, the bells. Sounds I want to take with me. That I want to hum quietly to myself whenever I miss them.

Not one, two and a half, but four bridge pillars remind me of the once raised gaze, of the game with the eyes of others. Once to the right, left, with a swing upwards and slowly drifting back. Satisfying the dry throat with loud slurping and breathing in deep gulps of water. Something like the tips of fresh dill runs down my tongue.

The Bavarian Prague cucumbers from Specht. Swiss sausage salad. Bad Reichenhall Alpine salt on steps. And a door. Still lifes of everyday life that I collected over days, weeks and years. The many lines and letters I can look at, that this place gives me.

Now, years, memories later, I see two peculiar feet, two delicate fins. Stretched out side by side. One fuzzy, the other somewhat slippery, water dripping from the tips.

I no longer play hide-and-seek, but look for a suitable piece of wood to draw as a knight into battle against the kayak paddles. The French horn calls me and says the ring belongs elsewhere. The dark green of the leaves changes colour and becomes flowery brown from the scent and the many sneezes of noses. The J becomes an A and the water no longer comes to rest.

I have to get away from here. I want to get away from here.

Even if I keep swimming, and at the new place the jetty leads into the same body of water, it is not the same. The vastness will leave me. The narrowness will call me.

Sometimes my nostrils say goodbye to this world and dive into the breathed-in scent of the night, and then I want to stay here. Don't want to move anymore and just pretend the dream goes on forever. Watch the misshapen faces laugh, cry and squint for a little longer. Inhale the sweet scent of the sea for a little longer, but rather the sweet scent of wine. Let myself glide into the rapids of dance, discussion, art. Of organ tones, taste, the busy squeaking of car tyres, the bustle on the bridge, coffee beans and vaults that are lit up. Feel the wind pass over my bluish shimmering skin. Carry the spirit of this city like a helium-filled condom, rising into the sky, with me.

I hear myself humming. But I only wanted to do that when I miss it. Can I do that already? Even though the familiar footsteps of people make me think I'm still here?

The other place is also beautiful. Surely also has theatre, falafel and hummus, five-toed feet. Brings equally crazy grimaces to the faces of people. Has the best beer. There I can't sleep late in the darkness of the night because of some regular techno rhythms that make the ear hairs tremble and wear out the eardrums of young souls. And then they stand stupidly by the water, under the bridge, the beer drips into the cool current, the noses are distorted, the laughter is more of a barking laugh of many voices and the bats fly about in confusion.

Then, exactly in this moment I burst out laughing. Can't hold myself back for joy, feel not only at home but also surrounded by warmth, because right at the water's edge stands the person with shoes from which fluff is pouring out. I recognise him, swim right up close and he gently strokes my fins. I gasp briefly and swim on.

Downstream I pass the transition from city to the inner city, where almost daily the two tyres of a woman in a red coat squeak and the white curls of the man cycling with her flutter about.

The bell now sounds almost as beautiful as the ever-remembered bells.

I arrive, know why I swam away from it, let go with heartfelt laughter and warm thoughts of the unique city of the past three years.

Hopefully soon new fish will come to you in the Main, who will also delight in the gentle green tone of your algae, the glitter of the sun's rays in your water droplets, the grey, mossy stones silently yet so vividly adorning the riverbank. The sulphurous smell. The lime deposits in the pores.

To know how to love all of that.