It was a long day. I am tired. As I sit in the car again and start the
engine, my longing does not go to you, but to my bed. Now just curl up and
allow the exhausted body rest, that would be the right thing. Much better than
sitting in the car for another couple of hours and driving monotonously down
the freeway. What nonsense actually. Should I write to you that I’m not coming?
So outlandish, the explanation is that I’m too tired, too exhausted. It would
even be the truth, or almost approximate. I am tired and exhausted, but too
tired and exhausted. Where does it start to be too much to still make it to
you? Actually, that’s how I dig out of my memory where I put it, actually, I
was looking forward to it, to the arrival and the meeting with you.
Meanwhile, it has become dark. Luckily there is
not much traffic. I have the first hundred kilometers behind me. I have already
done a good deal. I would be happy if I did not know that I would have to do
twice as much again. It bores me. That makes it harder to concentrate. Few
cars, many construction sites. It keeps you awake, braking down, meeting speed
limits. Why am I doing this? Only a hundred kilometers and I do not like it
anymore. The cross hurts and the fatigue is leaden, exhaustion depresses me,
even my expectations. Actually, we do not know each other, and yet I’m sitting
here in the car and drive to you. Although, what does already know? A mixture
of information and what lies beyond the information. How you communicate what
you reveal about yourself, beyond the content as an expression. Not at all
true, not quite. We have probably learned much more from each other than we can
say. And the more experienced is what made me travel to you and the desire to
see you upright, even though it has become very quiet. Almost meek. He is
quieter than the pain in my cross and the call to sleep rather.
I have the next hundred miles behind me. Now it would be completely nonsensical to turn back again. Stand still, that would go, close your eyes, rest. I look around as far as it is possible in the dark and from the sterile, gray desert of the street. The area is vaguely familiar to me. From the past. Very vague. And what should I do here, in the middle of the night, alone. But what did we actually promise, from a coming together? What did we hope for? And why us? We have made it, but what you attach to it, I cannot say. I can only know about my hopes, which I’ve put together, like a loose, almost negligently nailed board shed. A little skewed and vulnerable to the weather, it seems to me, in which a little resistance would be enough by a disagreement of whatever kind, to let everything collapse. And for these, more than vague prospects, am I actually going so far?
Now it’s just a few more minutes. No, it was more than a vague construction. Perhaps the construction, but the background that carries what we have started to consolidate what everything builds on, everything that could be, everything that is possible. Similarities, pronounced and unspoken, life attitudes, verbalized and hidden in the lines and the fundamental focus on life in all its beauty and openness. It does not sound like much. It’s definitely a lot more.
An arrival. Insight. A smile. A welcome. And everything falls away from me, the pain in the cross, the fatigue, the exhaustion, are blown away, in the moment in which I feel in every fiber of my body, my will and my spirit, why I took this long road on me. This one moment, the first in which the encounter proves to be a fulfillment. A moment when all the hardships, all concerns fall away and I am nothing but here and with you. There are no more questions and no explanation is needed. Being here and with you is what it’s all about. And if we succeed in completely and completely letting ourselves in, then that justifies the longest path.