Life is too short for boring stories

“You have to equip yourself,” I hear myself say. A last hug yet before we have to say good-bye. One last time still interwoven and let fall back into the indifference and carelessness. I do not want to think that there is a goodbye. I could not think there could be an arrival.

Your story was like mine in many things, but it was yours. You had betrayed your family, your children. You had let them down when they needed you most. They were no longer because you had abandoned them, and when you awoke to this consciousness that you had lost them, you were only awake. You did not help because you needed help. You were near, and so far from each other. You did not understand your cries of help, because you were separated in the side by side.

And I feel you in me under this olive tree while the sun spoils our skin, feel you, as I have never felt you, powerful, connecting and enriching, and in my gift lies the power to expand the moment into eternity, the expanse which I give to thee.

And when you saw that there was nothing else about you but rubble and shards and helplessness, you ran away to find a place where you could stay, perhaps even from the beginning, but there was no place where you found peace. It was always different, but the thoughts went with you, and the fault, and the failure. You wounded the wound and went on, farther and farther. You had lost the orientation with the stop. Perhaps there was at first the hope of a goal, but at some point you let yourself drift only more, were driven by this pain, which you could not escape. And before my door, there was no strength left, and I brought you into life and into my embrace. And perhaps I could heal the pain of your soul with it.

I know you have to go. You stand up, and I remain at this moment of union, and so it is not difficult for me to smile at you, it is not difficult for me not to realize that this is a goodbye. I still know nothing about it, for I am enveloped by you and your presence, and as long as this remains, there can be no farewell. Maybe I will freeze in the night and look for you. Maybe I’ll talk to you and not get an answer. Maybe I will be angry and sad, but it is always that you dress me with your presence, even if you are not there.

And you will come to my door. The days take their course, and you will return to the present, occupying the place that you always have.


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