Life is too short for boring stories

A wonderful spring sun day. I decide to lie down in the meadow with my book. The flowers bloom around me and receive a lot of visitors. There is buzzing and humming everywhere. People are not allowed to get together, but nature follows its rhythm, completely independently of the hairless bipeds. I put the book down to watch the industrious, winged beasts. How easily I get distracted. But life is more exciting than any book. It doesn’t run away from me, but these flowers will only bloom for a certain time. The bright colors, the scent they emit are all too tempting. A wonderful, smooth interaction in which each side wins without wasting or exploiting. Of course, I am aware that there are also so-called parasites in nature that gradually exclude their host in such a way that it perishes, but the majority lives in a symbiosis. They find their niches and survival strategies that are not at the expense of others. There is only one species that seems to forget this basic wisdom in everything it does. That is man. The species that I also belong to, with this tremendously large brain, which makes it turn flowering meadows into green deserts, scare away the insects and all the other small creatures, and also find this type of denaturing to be beautiful.

But I’m lucky to be in the middle of the blooming flowers that grow as they want. At first it was just grass, but now white, purple, yellow and orange flowers shine in between. The wind brought the seeds here or the birds. And where they fall and find their piece of earth in which to anchor their roots, they grow. As it is destined, as it would be mine. To grow, to become more, with experience, with encounter.

Just like in the encounter with you. Involuntarily, my gaze wanders away from the meadow, up the walnut tree until it disappears into the sky, which is as wide as my thoughts, seemingly unlimited and comprehensive, but still like an umbrella over the Earth. It is as far away as you are. For weeks now. I notice how the sadness narrows my mind. I feel a little offended, but also sad because I don’t see that you’ve been far away like heaven. It is unfair that it does not seem to end. I cross my arms crossly in front of my chest. Caught in this pettiness, I lose sight of the colors, the zest for life and even curiosity. Self-pity narrows perception. I feel a tickle on my skin. It’s the sun’s rays that tease me, a little bit like you, when I imagine that I have to be sorry. But also like the warmth of your touch. My skin remembers this closeness and the familiarity and cooperation. You are very close to me at this moment when you are so far away because you have immovably brought yourself into my life, no matter how far away or how long. Nothing can take away this feeling of being with you again, nothing can erase it, so that the smile returns and the openness. I look up to the sky, this bright blue, cloudless sky and suddenly I know that it is this sky that connects us even in this time of being separated. It spans the earth here, just as it does in the place where you are. If we raise our eyes, we will find ourselves there, just as we will get back together. Nobody knows when and where, but I am again confident that it will be. Because the sky is not lying. A smile involuntarily plays around my lips. I send it to you like a kiss and a hug and all the invigorating thoughts that I suspect more than that I formulate them. It is not necessary because you understand me, either way or maybe just like that. It is good how it is to find oneself in life, in yourself, in you and together, with the sky above us, which protects us as we do.


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