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Life is too short for boring stories

From the first day we die. Not metaphorically, not allegorically, but really. Every day that passes, we have a day less. Every day a little death. Of course, in the beginning, there is still a construction, the illusion of becoming. How long? A few years? One and a half decades? And yet only illusion, because with every morning we greet, we say goodbye to a day’s life. What did you do with this day? Did you live it? Have you at least laughed once, cried once and made a dash more in the list of your lived and unlived days? Of course, you can make a directory in which you just make a fuss for every day, because your fear is far too great in the face of the truth. What would your balance look like if you were to record the lived and on the other side the unexpressed days on one side? How big would the imbalance be? But what is a lived day.

A laugh – a tear – a wound – a cure, that’s a lived day.

Let’s not fool ourselves, from the first day we die. Should not it shake us up, let’s get started, because tomorrow is a new day and today? What about today? There is always some today! No better and worse than any other you can live on, more and more, or less and less. It’s up to you. Or no, do not choose it, just do it, live and do not rely on the morning. Do you know that it really comes? Can you say with certainty that you will get another chance? Wasted, squandered, sold out, and from year to year, your balance looks worse.

A laugh – a tear – a wound – a cure, that’s a lived day.

I wanted it with you, always, forever. Do you remember the time when the formula was still going on, in that time when I was laughing with you, and weeping for the pain that did not concern us, and burning your wounds with sharp needles and healing with sweet kisses? All the lived and long-gone days. I scratched a stripe in my arm for everyone. Look! Scar to scar joins, but they have long healed the wounds. I put them very close, so that the space is sufficient, but he is no longer needed.

A laugh – a tear – a wound – a cure, that’s a lived day.

At first the laughter vanished, and only the tears remained, but it was no longer the suffering of the others, but the one I wept for. With open hands I stood before you. Let’s just live, but we did not find the words anymore. As much as we tried, it was not the same language we spoke anymore. So much strangeness, so much ambiguity! What happened? With blunt needles, you burn wounds into my heart, but the healing touch did not come. And your kisses had become bitter.

A laugh – a tear – a wound – a cure, that’s a lived day.

For you, I cut open my breast, laid it free, my pulsating, despite everything beating heart. Life defies everything, vehemently resisting unwillingness. You should see it, the bloody tears that wept, how you hurt it, day after day and healing. It would have been so easy. It would have been impossible. I offered myself to you with open hands. Did you even see it at all? You have turned away, hardened.

No laughter – just tears – many wounds – no healing, this is an unlived day.

2 Gedanken zu “With open heart and bleeding hands

    1. novels4utoo sagt:

      Thank you. That’s nice of you.

      Liken

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