Life is too short for boring stories

You sit next to me, on the dock and look thoughtfully into the water in which you are mirroring yourself. The picture is only slightly distorted by the gentle wave movements.

Everything in the flow.

You are not easy, you will, even if you sit silently and thoughtfully next to me and do nothing but watch your image in the water or just keep your eyes lost, even then you are not easy.

Everything in the flow.

I take a small stone and throw it into the water where you are mirroring. The image blurs, beyond recognition, until the water surface smoothes out again. It did not affect you. The stones that hit you, the blows of fate, the pain and the grief, the abandonment and the lostness, it cannot harm you. It lets you become.

Everything in the flow.

How fragile it is, this image of you. A small stone suffices to completely alienate it, and yet it will, over and over again. Get up when you fall. You can do it. Do not leave it to others. Do not give yourself over to the others. As long as you can do it yourself, keep it in your hand. Do not say yes, if you want to say no. Do not say that it is good if it really constricts your heart and throat. Do not give up if you want to be strong. As long as you can.

Everything in the flow.

Do not let yourself be persuaded of what you have to be or become. Who can know it but yourself what you are or what lies dormant in you? Does your gaze reveal it to you? Does it show in your dreams? Does it reflect in my eyes? Let it be – and overlook it if the world considers it unacceptable. What interests you also the world, what interests you, those who do not give you courage, but try to make you small?

Everything in the flow.

And the image that is in your head of yours is so fragile, so vulnerable, so untenable, since it is static. Betrayal of life, even wanting to hold on to the moments of the experience of yourself, to freeze, to make motionless and dead. Treachery to me not to experience you in life, but only in dying, in the past. Do not let me hold you, if only as the image in my head that I think I need of you.

Everything in the flow.

Will you still look at me with that joy when I am old, when there is nothing left of symmetry? Will you still give me your touch when my skin withers like a leaf in autumn? Will you still love me when the strength gives way? Will you still be with me?

Everything in the flow.

Your image is that which I see, away from the reflection, when I find you facing me and look at you, feel you, hear you. That’s what I mean, fragile and vulnerable, always been, always new.

Everything in the flow.

The image of you, the image you give me, is new in every moment, and when you are gone, it sleeps until you awaken it to reality, and that which it is, and being is becoming ,

Everything in the flow.

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