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Life is too short for boring stories

These beautiful green eyes, this ingratiating smile. I felt as I sank into those eyes, in that smile, and the world around me no longer seemed to exist.

 

„Stay here,“ I warned myself, „This is nothing more than a job.“ But as I thought so, I knew it was already too late, that the borders had already been crossed. The most difficult thing was not to forget that it was nothing but a doll, but oh, what a perfect. Life could never have produced such a perfection. In addition, I had time to look at him in peace, without having to do anything, to prepare time for the next step. This was also described in detail in the manual. The next few minutes were now used to tell him my story and I gave him the key facts of his story. Then he began to tell, as if he had tied his inner self together. From a few key words, which were important to me, he put a whole life story, which was not necessarily extraordinary, but it was his, and again I slipped a little deeper into him, which is now not only external, but also inner contours, and yet he was only a doll, and again it was a little harder not to forget what fiction and what was reality.

While I had told him my story, he had listened attentively, as attentively as I had never before experienced. He did not get up to do anything else, he did not even look away. He was quite there and with me, as one would wish for every human being. He did it. Again and again he gave me a nod or a smile, which once again underlined his facing me. Every word that I said, he sucked into himself like a sponge, saved it, and he did not forget it. How could one succeed under such circumstances, not to forget that the one who did me so well, by his presence alone, was not genuine.

 

Coin around coin so wandered into his slit, and we did nothing but talk, all night long until the next morning. Then I thought of my order and recorded my impressions as exactly as possible. It did not take much time, but it seemed to me like an eternity, because I wanted to continue talking, always so, but I decided to go to sleep while I put him on the couch. So intimately we were not yet together. And what would he think of me when I took him to my bed the first night? It was now obviously impossible not to forget that he was not a human being.

 

When I was lying in bed, waiting for the sleep to take me into his arms, I wished to be in the arms of him, who lay peacefully and quietly on my couch, I wanted to touch him, a stroking, perhaps a kiss, and a sigh, a small, lonely sigh, came from my breast, but I was not lonely, for out there, there lay the man of my dreams, a man straight from a fairy-tail, but without a white horse, what I had anyway no use for, and it was almost impossible not to forget that he was not a man, no one as it is so popular.

 

And when I woke up the next morning, my first path led to him. I woke him gently with a coin and a kiss on the cheek. I sat down with my coffee cup next to him on the couch this time. Only one coin I had planned, and then I used three before I let him close the eyes again, after I had said good-bye to go to work. I had the certainty that he would be there when I came back, that he was waiting for me, and I did not mean to forget about it now … Yes, what actual?

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