Life is too short for boring stories

Actually, I just wanted to get something out of the kitchen quickly, and then I got back behind my laptop. You’re sitting on the couch and looking at me, with that penetrating look that I would not be surprised if it burned a hole in my skin.
“What’s going on?” I asked, leaving the laptop and everything else, because I wanted to know.
“As if you were interested in it,” you replied pointedly, and at the latest I knew that it was cautious to proceed.
“You know very well that I’m interested,” I said. “Otherwise I would not ask you?”
“Oh yes? You do not see me anymore,” you said. It was obviously worse than feared.
“If I did not see you, I would not have noticed that something was wrong,” I tried to answer your remarks with logic. Had I still not learned that this was the completely wrong way?
“Yes, perhaps. And then only out of politeness. But right, no, otherwise you would sit with me,” you said.
“If you want me to sit with you, I’ll do that,” I said, and I did, and put my arm around your shoulder, pulled you to me, and gave you a little kiss on your nose. But instead of a smile that I expected, you pushed me away.
“But only because I say it. You could never come up with the idea. And that tells me that you do not want it. You do not need to do anything you do not want,” you said, while you were stretching your body in an attacking mood.
“That does not make any difference. If you want that, then you can say it. And then I like to do it, too,” I tried stubbornly on stringent thoughts.
“It makes a difference!” you burst, “You know I want it. I do not need to say that, and when I say it, you do it because I say it. You never come to the idea yourself. “
“But how can I know what you want, if you do not say it?” I asked, frowning.
“Because you know that. As if that were so hard,” you told me.
“I should be able to read your mind,” I said, and could not help smiling.
“How long have you known me? And anyway, you do not take me seriously. You do not take anything serious at all, at your age. It would be well for you to take life and finally take everything seriously at last,” you said, and I had to laugh at the choice of words.
“What’s so funny about it now? There is so much misery in the world. We have worries and problems, and you laugh? Do you have any sense for the practical?” you asked, more and more angry.
“If I look serious now, does that change anything about misery or worries or problems?” I asked.
“No, it’s not about seriousness, but to take seriously,” you countered like shot from the gun. It seemed like a learning experience. And somewhere it seemed to me as familiar, as if we had already led this conversation in such a way.
“Just because I do not look serious does not mean I do not take it seriously,” I explained. “But no matter how I look or anything else, it’s nice that you are there and that you are a part of my life.” Said it and started a new attempt to take you in the arm. This time you let it happen. You took a kiss, too. Perhaps I should take life a bit more seriously from time to time, at least the realization that in certain situations it is more effective to follow the path of empathy than that of logic.


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