No antics, no extreme situations, no emotional outbursts, no violence and no crime, not even the slightest bit of disagreement. There is nothing to report about it because it does not seem to be worth listening or reading.
When I think about it, I remember how it is. Easy is. I wake up. The alarm clock rang. Half asleep I already realize that you are there. Unaware. Only your warmth and your skin, and that it is good that you are there. Quite banal nice, that you are there when I wake up and put the alarm clock to snooze. I’ll treat myself to ten more minutes. Maybe you too, to roll me in your arm again. You draw me to you, your arm around me, a little closer to you, even in half asleep.
I still doze a little. The glint of sunlight, the beginning of the day, falls through the windows. As with that walk through the branches and the leaves. Dancing points of light on the ground. We chat and look to the clouds. Sometimes we are silent too. Reflecting upon what was said last, or grasping the coming thought, even in words or merely in grasping your hand, my hand. Then you release my hand, because you need them to talk. We laugh. Also, because life is beautiful and we have the freedom. Not only but also. And we are serious. It is not all well and good, far from it, but it is a happiness that carries and embraces us, which also gives us hope, strength and courage and perseverance. Even if the images in my head spread over all the misery and suffering and cannot be scared away. When I am overcome by this kind of sadness that is so profound that it pervades me like a pain. Then you hug me and just hold me like that. When going for a walk. In the local. Even at night, when it is that I awake from sleep, because these pictures pursue me into my dreams. You do not have to say anything. You’re there. Very close, and slowly I calm down again until I can fall asleep again. Also, because you snore, sometimes. It has something reassuring. I also snore, now and then, you say. We have nothing to blame. I find nothing, nothing to reproach, nothing to upset, nothing to annoy. It’s weird because it happens to me so often. Just not with you. It’s quiet and easy and how it is. Even if we are traveling together. Following the social practices. Then you’re there. Somewhere. Near. Unconcerned because it is not necessary to bother each other. A life of its own, anyway, or just because, to come together again. There would be nothing else to tell. Easy to be with other people, too. To pull back, to be for yourself, too. I lay my head on your chest. We watch TV, we listen to music or we look up to the stars. It is so trivial and simple, yet so extraordinary and unusual. Nevertheless, there is nothing to report. The triviality is bored and the extraordinary is only in the experience itself.
The alarm goes on again. I turn it off and remove myself from your arm, away from your warmth, your skin. Quietly I get up, put on my clothes and try to wake up completely. As the coffee bubbles, I look out into the morning. The new day is here. It has to be lived. Quickly I drink the cup empty and take the shoes for safety’s sake in the hand. I will not wear them outside so I can step more calm. But when I pass the door behind which the bed is where you are still lying, because you do not have to get up and can still sleep, I cannot resist, slip in and give you a kiss, gently stroke the hand over your cheek. I smile at you. It’s nice to see you like this. You look so satisfied. I hope you are. Then I pull myself loose and go, close the door behind me. That’s what it was. This is the daily, normal, quiet happiness. There is nothing to report about that.