From BYSTANDERS: HER BERLIN NOTEBOOK by Mirjam Hadar Meerschwam

A pattern formed. I wrote, she wrote back. I waited. If I hadn’t imposed my pace, we would have been dragged into this writing between us, sucked in and engulfed. Her impulse was to answer immediately. “Telling her” she called it. That's me, "her".
She was surprised at how she loved it. The patience and thoughtfulness with which I lingered, turning things this way and that, the seriousness I put into it so that the words weighed. I came across something Audre Lorde said: putting things on the line, putting one’s self on the line. In the sense too that the writing between us grew into a project of self-presentation. The line as limit but also as the thin-drawn materialization and trace of time, the fine blue horizontal along which we express ourselves putting down one mark after another. And here she was "telling me" herself – her pleasure in it, under my gaze: like a cat in the sun, like a child playing/flaunting her pliable limbs, her soft hair, her weightlessness.