Life is too short for boring stories

Our living conditions have changed. Everything is different. I have changed. I’m not like this anymore. Just like then. You have not changed. Or so you say. You always stay the same. That’s what you call reliability. I call it boredom. End of life in the middle of life. You do not understand it. But you cannot cope with it anymore. You would have tried it for a long time, but now it cannot be done anymore. I thought we could do it. We still managed to do it. Despite all these years. I still do not believe it. You will not believe. Maybe, you mean that it could be. You do not know. You want to find out. Think. Become clear. You want to see what it’s like when you’re gone.

Maybe you go, because the door is open.

We cannot find each other anymore. Or so you say. Our life paths only intersect by accident, not because of interest. What do we have in common? You mean, nothing remained. I say you can rediscover it if you want. But you are in your orbit. You do not change. I already. Change is bad. You cannot do it differently. You do not want to discover anything new. You do not want to get involved. That’s why I cannot do that either. If I do, then I have to expect consequences. Take the knitting needles. The rattle is familiar. Not the other that was not before, and that you do not want because it should not be there. Only that which was always. I ask you what ever was. In our history. Nothing was always. Everything came. Even the new, which is already used, but at some point, it was just new. You do not see it that way. Either it was always or not. A stringent worldview. Mine is suspect to you, with the changes. You want to maintain continuity. That does not work with me.

You go, because the door is open.

Life has taught us. You different than me. Or was it the attitude that was different. If I am not satisfied with my life circumstances, then I have to change them. If you are not satisfied with your circumstances, then you are lamenting, and you see them as unchangeable. There is nothing to shake it. I ask for. I should not ask so much. I question. I should let it stay. There is nothing to question. On the whole, it’s good as it is. Always the same routine. In between is just a little whining. Work is suffering. Joy is on the weekend. Work does not have to be a pain. But you mean, and look forward to the free time. Then you go. You’re not there. You never were. Never there. Just a place for a stopover. I was available. Not any longer. Another change that you do not understand. One has to get involved in understanding, opening the eyes, the hands, the heart and the head. You stay closed. It is easier to open a door.

If you go, then do not stop halfway.

Only at the end it is over. I still believe in that. Nothing is lost. Unless we give it up. It is to be accepted. Even if I do not understand it. Time beats wounds and heals them. We heal

ourselves and we can heal them. Or cultivate it and relish it with pleasure. It is not my way. To be here. That is my concern. Not in the past. Not in the morning. It does not matter what’s in twenty years. You look at me and I know that your decision has been made. Even if you do not say it. Even if I do not understand it. But I see it. When you decide, stand by it and carry it through. You can ot keep all options open. You cannot go, and expect me to keep the place warm for you if you come again. When you go, then do it completely.

If you go, then close the door.


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