Life is too short for boring stories

At the beginning, you still think that none of that matters. At first you are so euphoric and endorphin-impregnated that you think that none of this matters.

You are an early riser, a morning worshiper who is so invitingly tickled in the nose by the first ray of sunshine that you can’t help but jump out of bed cheerfully to greet the new day, while I, sleepy and curmudgeonly, the blanket completely pull tight over my head and cursed all the cursed frippery, the sunbeams, the birdsong, this detached cheerfulness. Of course, it is nice when you are cheerful and jolly, balanced and in a good mood, but why only at this time when I turn around and want to sleep in peace. Of course I like it when you hug me, smile at me and tell me what you are, but now, at this early hour of the morning, it is like an affront, it makes me feel angry that I am not allowed to show because I I’m actually glad that you are there, glad that you are me, but now, now I damn well want to sleep in peace.

My time is the evening. I get eloquent and creative and thrilling. The sweet, heavy scent of the evening, of the upcoming night, puts me in delight and I want to take you with me into this joy, this cheerfulness and balance, but then you get tired, withdraw and completely do not understand that I am you demand, at a time when every normal person, as you call it, has already done his day’s work and is slowly preparing to become calm and tired. You cannot understand that I am now energetic and demanding. I storm you with my hunger for life, with my energy, which rises steadily higher, the more the sun sinks. Let yourself be looked at, touched, taken with me in my opening up, in my turning, let us be cheerful and jolly and talking. But you’re just curling your eyebrows suspiciously, and I know these little wrinkles between your eyes signal that you appreciate all of this, too, but not at this time of day. Tomorrow morning, yes, tomorrow morning, it would suit you.

At the beginning, you still think it doesn’t matter. You still have enough strength to jump over your shadow, to overcome yourself and to get closer to the rhythm of the other. But it takes so much strength.

And over time, the hours we spend together become fewer and fewer. In the morning I sleep when you are there. During the day we go about our jobs, mostly outside of the house, separately. In the evening, when I’m awake, you sleep, and little by little we look for other occupations. We have long since given up trying to pull others to the other side. And over time, very gradually, we give up because there is nothing left, nothing in common and nothing connecting, nothing holding and nothing becoming. Over time we become strangers to each other, because our rhythm strikes against the other and we no longer understand that there could be that, the beginning, full of euphoria and joy. But there must have been, now that we have reached the end.

And we can’t help it. There is no point in blaming yourself. It is Chronos, even if it hurts, who do us part.

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