Life is too short for boring stories

I wake up, because I have no other choice, into a givenness. Freedom is not limited by the given condition, but only by the necessity of a given. Of some kind. I cannot change the necessity of the givenness, but the givenness in which I awake. After all. But I also use it all too rarely. I’m not used to it.

Moreover, I was so preoccupied with pretensions that I had forgotten that I could influence. As if I were sitting in front of a bowl of water. No wind blowing. Nothing touches the water surface. I hold on my breath. Unconsciously, as I notice how a spring settles down on the water. Light waves curl the surface, break the lack of movement. Since first I notice that it is possible to move, and yet nothing happens, only that I can affect the givenness. At first I hesitantly make use of the newly discovered possibility. Then always more brash. It gives me pleasure. I am no longer at the mercy, as I begin to use my potential. Because I can.

I awake, because I have no choice, into a givenness, but into one that I have chosen myself. It takes me a little while to know what I have chosen for myself and my awakening, and have established myself in it. The light of the approaching morning is still weak and all around me is still caught up in my sleep. You too. I understand faster than I can see. I feel the warmth of your skin. Next to me. On my hand. My chest. My stomach. My thighs. I have pressed myself to you. Even in my sleep I can influence the situation. But now that I’m awake and the possibilities expand, I want to leave it as it is. Your chest lifts and lowers regularly. Quiet, gentle breaths. You have not awakened. It is good. I want to let you sleep. It is not necessary for you to wake up. Moreover, it is good, because I look at you. So familiar. So close. Just look at how I can, if you do not. I need nothing to explain. You will not ask me. I have neither an explanation nor an answer, for I see you, without purpose or aim. I look at you without interest. The look stands for itself. It is because I have forgotten that it is and takes whatever it is. Indiscriminately. Without evaluating or judging.

I awake because I have no choice, but influence, into what I wanted, in which I do nothing more than look at you. And my gaze overshadows even the slightest touch. Disinterested. Even forgetting. Simply because it is. Nothing else, nothing else. It is good. Carefully I release my skin from yours. For a moment I think of pushing one of my lips, but I hold back. I do not want to wake you. Silently I slip into my clothes and leave the room and the apartment, out somewhere. It does not matter. My eyes clothe you. Maybe you find it when you wake up. I have clothed you, with this look, neither purpose nor orientation, which has no interest. I’ll take it with me, to another situation, so he will also dress me when I’m out there and freeze


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