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Life is too short for boring stories

There is so much to do. There is always a lot to do. Especially because the world is just as it is. It’s better to be together, surrounded by people who work for the same cause and bring their own ideas. One finds oneself, if one wants, works together, disassociates and rejoices, if things succeed. And one day, I looked up and saw an unfamiliar face. From somewhere you have come to us. And then you were here.

I greeted you and told you that I was happy to welcome you in our round. You returned my greeting and my smile. As with all others. Then we went back to work. You brought in your imaginations and ideas, like everyone else, brought your concerns and objections, like everyone else. We discussed, reasoned, changed and redone until we were satisfied with the result. Finally, we were able to sit back for a moment and enjoy what we had done. My eyes met you. also. But it felt a little different for me. It was good, probably like all the others. But it irritated me that maybe it was a little closer to me. Also, that you were here.

I looked away because I did not know what to say. There was nothing to say, nothing special, so I meant. And you did not say anything. So, what should that be? So, passed the time. the group became stronger and stronger. We became, as they say, a well-rehearsed team, probably with the corresponding and familiar signs of wear. Tiredness and resignation, now and then, came about because we did not progress as we imagined, because projects that we promised a lot got lost in the sand and we had to start all over again. Then we encouraged each other and gave us hope. I realized that I was looking for your encouragement the most in these moments. Because I always found it. Because you were here.

And one day came, it was especially bad. It was a feeling. far beyond mere discouragement or resignation. Everything suddenly seemed completely meaningless to me. I wanted to throw everything away, from now on. So much energy had been invested and nothing looked out. On the contrary, it got worse and worse. Then you hugged me and something happened to me, which I would never have conceded. I cried. And it happened without that I could do something about it. You did nothing but keep me. Nothing else. Kept me until the cry stopped and I was back to myself. Instead of saying that it was fine, that you were here and held me instead of responding to my fears, even those of the lost, I floundered something embarrassing and will not happen again and of strength that I should actually have. Then I returned to our work. I was ready. It had to go on, in spite of everything. I plunged in to leave everything else out, but when I looked up, in between, you were not here.

For the first time, I was painfully aware of how blind and deaf I had been all the time, how much I had repressed it, that it was especially good that you were here. But it had become so obvious. That’s how I treated you. In the process, you had sought nothing more than an access to me, and where it could have been, I had shushed you from me. From one moment to the other, I saw clearly. But was not it already too late? Had not I driven you away by my pragmatics and the isolation of my feelings? No, I did not want to give up that quickly. I went out and looked for you, until I found you, on a bench in the park. You sat bent over at the edge of the pond and your eyes lost in the water. I squatted next to you and said what I could do: „You were not there, all of a sudden, and I realized that it was important to me that you were here.“

And you took my hand. Together we went back. And then we were here.

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