Life is too short for boring stories

There are nights when everything seems so clear, as clear as the moon and its reflection in the water. They smile at each other and everything is said. There are no misunderstandings. And there are other nights when everything is muddled, as muddled as the moon and its reflection in the water when a cloud intervenes. They can no longer find each other and feel the distance that separates them from one another, and it is not their fault, neither the moon nor its reflection, just something irrelevant that has slipped between them and passes by again.

„It looks as if the clouds are playing interception,“ I say casually, on the side, because I am looking up at the sky and the little clouds seem to be darting across the sky so quickly.
“Little Clouds don’t play interception. Clouds don’t play at all. They are just a meteorological phenomenon and the wind drives them forward, which admittedly blows particularly hard today,” you reply, because you are not looking up into the sky, but are looking for the reflection that cannot be found.
“You weren’t even looking! It’s so beautiful and serene. There’s something so aimless about it. A game, even if clouds aren’t playing, but that doesn’t make any difference. I say they play and it makes me happy,” I reply defiantly.
“I think that will amuse you, the game. You like to play so much and you are so little serious. You have to be serious now and then. Life is not just a game, „you note.
“No, not just a game? I thought you could do it so that everything is a game, that you enjoy everything, or at least try to have it,” I comment.
“That doesn’t work. And what about me? What about you? What about us? Is it maybe all just a game?” You ask, because you probably don’t understand it better at the moment or the lack of reflection is clouding your view.
“Yes, that’s a game too. We, that is joy of life, joy of love, pure and pure. We are stripped of goal and purpose, because we are ourselves for our own sake. Nothing that pushes or forces us, just pure will. We, that is to find oneself in time. We, that is a constant swaying in the melody. Yes, that too is a game, it is joy and happiness and confidence and light. Yes, that is also a game that we play together, in which there are no losers, only winning in the other, growing and becoming,” I reply thoughtfully.
„You play with me! You play with my feelings and fears and worries!” You interject, and I can feel your concern.
“No, I don’t play with you, we play with each other, our game together,” I say.
“Why does it feel so strange? Why do I feel as if you are making fun of me?” You ask, because you don’t understand otherwise in view of the lack of reflection.
“Because you understand differently than I do. Because you should hear the words as I say them. Because you can never put your language style in mine. And that’s why it’s a game, togetherness, pure and without ulterior motives, free and pointless, ”I answer accordingly and I notice that you understand, finally understand, and understanding puts a smile on your face, makes it shine.
“Come on, catch me if you can,” you ask me to stand up and when you start to run, you turn around again. Yes, there is a glow in your eyes.
„I’ll catch you,“ I reply cockily.
There are nights like this.

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