Life is too short for boring stories

Some would say it was meant to be. Others would think it a coincidence what happened that evening. It was simply a coincidence of special circumstances, and, indeed, what made it so special and did not occur so frequently, but for this reason could not be described as unusual, but at most as rare, on both sides. They fell in love. And because it has to be the case with skin and hair and what else they had to give. This also a quite common procedure, because if you did something, then just right. Otherwise it could be left entirely.

It was nothing else, and the confusion, even of one’s own volition, does not play a subordinate role in life – as the desire to be held, both of which – and that was so wonderful – had to miss for such a long time. And because, with the half-things – as already mentioned – it was for the others and not for themselves, they thought, he and she, without ever having agreed on this – which can lead to fatalities, as we shall see, must always be so, without being confronted with oneself – even against oneself – which actually meant that. So it did not take long until they felt uncomfortable. Of course, they would have been able to integrate the new into the old, so they could integrate them together into the past of their lives. But it was as if they had missed the moment that made it possible and they had to go so far.


“You strangle me,” he said to her one day, and she fell from all the clouds. At least she said that it must be so now that he had spoken quite differently, and she deliberately overlooked the fact that he had not spoken at all, at least not about it. And to take it very precisely, she did not either.

“But what does that mean?”, she asked angrily. In this case, an offense is also appropriate and must be observed.

“You stifle me with your presence, with your attendance. It is as if I had no more life, as it was before,” he tried to explain, even if it was senseless, because she did not have the courage to understand, “I just want to restore the possibility to create for myself without having to explain it. You are so much to me, too much, I cannot breathe anymore, no longer think. And above all, there is no place for longing. I cannot miss you. I can no longer prepare for you. There is no longer joy, but only a necessity. “

And when she went, he could breathe a sigh of relief.


It would have been an even more unusual meeting if they had found their way into it at the same time. But she needed a little longer, until she had begun to run out of breathe. So he had taken over, had to take over, so as not to go down. So she went. Just because. And when she had passed through the pain, and probably also the disgust, whereupon she gave herself a clear thought, first of all. One could then, yes, go further. This thought was at least a beginning and said that he was probably right.


How hard it is to hear what the other says, precisely when one is emotionally close to one’s own, without judging what is being said as an attack, and not rather as what it is, an information about how the other is. It should just be there. But probably they had not been so far. And if one understands, if one has got through, then it is too late. Too bad that it is not unusual. Perhaps they could still find a way to breathe and longing. She would definitely try to do it, because only what is given lost is lost.


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