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Life is too short for boring stories

You are sitting on the terrace. The work for today is done, you think. All the big and small things that you had to do. Some things have been left behind, but that is not so urgent. You can do that tomorrow, or maybe even today, if you could get yourself up to it. You …

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Marianne was the mother of four children. The three big ones were already thrown out, as the saying goes. There were three girls, 20, 18, and 16 years old. Three good girls. There had been no major difficulties. Everything went according to plan. Around her she repeatedly experienced families who had so-called „problem children“, whereby …

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Connectedness The glass,splintered into a thousand pieces,changes,when you bend downtake one from you.

“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?

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