Life is too short for boring stories

You were with me when I came back to me. I do not know how long you had knelt next to me, first in the snow, still kneeling as the snow thawed, still kneeling as the meadow blossomed again, new, virginal and untouched. Again and again it becomes new, and even innocence can be recovered. You kneel beside me when I came back to me, and your hands lay idle in your lap. I had never seen you so, calmly and consciously, looking into an unknown distance. How I would have liked to have seen you so soon, to be able to see you, just look, without you would have gone away from my watching you right again. I did not know if you had registered my coming to me at all, because your eyes remained fixed in the distance.

“It’s good that you’re back,” I heard you.
“Yes, it’s good that I’m back, even if I had no choice,” you heard me.
“I cannot go on without you.” I heard you.
“I cannot think without you,” you heard me.
“You’re the thought.” I heard you.
“You’re the act.” You heard me.
“And the thought belongs to the act.”, I heard you.
“And the act belongs to the thought.”, You heard me.
“I do not want you to stop thinking, because then you would stop being yourself.” I heard you.
“I do not want you to stop doing, because then you would stop being yourself.” You heard me.
“In the union of thought and action we become whole.” I heard you.
“In the union of action and thought we become whole.” You heard me.
“Do we want to go find a new meadow?” I heard you.
“No, it is not necessary, because look around, it has become new to us, virgin unaffected.”, You heard me.

Carefully, very carefully, and timidly, you laid your warm, soft hand on my naked belly, burning it, warning the past, signposting to the coming. Deep traces left them, on me, in me, Your touch, gave me new strength, and in this newly won union with you, the generation of a new idea to be joined.

I lay in the grass, still completely filled with you and our intercourse, lying beside the black chair from which you had removed the corpse and replaced it with a white cloth adorned with flowers. He had probably struck anew roots, my black chair, and the sun tickled my nose. You had laid you to me, so that your and my body would dissolve in this one touch, dissolving the skin, flesh, pure naked flesh, and rehabilitating in the merging, where pain and suffering no longer penetrated, nothing divisive and nothing repulsive into this one, all absorbing into itself, everything in itself accommodating touch.


2 Gedanken zu “The touch

  1. robertomuffoletto sagt:


    The imagery did not feel as strong with this one…. almost too flowing, no place to leave a breath. As usual it held my attention.

    1. novels4utoo sagt:

      Hey! Will you explain what you mean, next time? I’m interested. Cu

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