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Life is too short for boring stories

“You love me,” he thinks, “and actually you’ve always loved me. You just didn’t admit it to yourself, didn’t admit it. Like a light in the ailing darkness, a positioning in the midst of the vagueness of your poor, desolate life. But what, you must have asked yourself what if I had left you, if …

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We walk part of the way together, hand in hand. Nobody can say how long this piece will be – or how short, and I don’t even want to be told. At some point it will be over, at some point – just not today, and maybe we will be granted the next night and …

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Elsewhere, a mother also gives birth. Four babies, without help, without advice or instructions on how to breathe. She can just do it. She licks the little ones clean until the fur is shiny. They find the breasts to drink on their own. It happens as a matter of course, in the warmth of security, …

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There was nothing more than the kind of simple happiness that was not grandly announced or expected, but simply was there, with all naturalness, as if there could be nothing else, as if it couldn’t be otherwise. I plunged into the clear night, into its sweet, beguiling scent, into the gentle breath of the wind …

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The chaos was in the river, still in the river, around the safe harbor that we let become in our words, our jetty on the lake, the lake, the ferryman and the window. We let the water of the lake wash over us, dived, swam, but when we reached the opposite bank it was the …

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There can only be one way to get together, the direct one. There can only be one willingness to be with one another, the unconditional one. And there can only be one time to be together, the now. We sat on our jetty, still flowing around, blown around by the chaos, but already with a …

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In the flow of chaos, in the center of the unformed, we want to set a new beginning as ours. But where do you start? Where do we want to set our first fixed point?

How do we build a new world for ourselves when the one we had is the only one we knew? Don’t we always take ourselves with us into the new, even when we’re sitting in the middle of the wild, untouched, unstoppable chaos and actually have nothing but each other? Nothing else? So much, but …

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The wagon had fallen into the abyss, hit and splintered, shattered. I had closed my eyes, let myself fall into the seemingly inevitable, in the silent expectation that the same would happen to me, but when the bang had died down and calm returned, I still felt whole. Something must have slowed my fall, prevented …

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The wall stood firmly between us. Took us to look at each other and to each other, took us to speak to each other and to approach each other. And the wagon crawled on, unguided, unbraked, towards the slope.

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