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Life is too short for boring stories

„Do you know when the next bus is coming?“ The young man asked hesitantly when he had been sitting next to her at the bus stop for some time. The woman he spoke to was a good twenty years older than him. She could have been his mother. Was that why he was ready to …

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Suddenly she fell in love with him. As it happens, always and everywhere in the world, with butterflies in your stomach, accompanied by loss of appetite and the constant desire to be with him, nothing more than to be with him. He probably felt the same way, because they really spent every free minute together. …

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That’s how Yvonne and Mark spent the night, arm in arm. Arrived. Mark was the first to wake up and had to find his way around. Was it really true that this girl was lying next to him, full of trust and without a doubt? He gently stroked her cheek with his hand as if …

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Mark despondently dropped his hands. Now that he was so close to Yvonne, he seemed speechless. There was this tough, energetic girl who didn’t turn away from him, but even asked him to tell his story and he, with his inner and outer mutilations. He noticed how good she smelled. He stole his gaze over …

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„This is wonderful,“ replied Mr. Dr. Beautiful, „I never knew you had such ambitions.““You didn’t know a lot about me,” said Mrs. Beautiful shortly, “People change, learn from it and you don’t notice it. Or they have big dreams and plans and keep them to themselves because they are afraid that they will be broken. …

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It was a gray autumn day when my dog drew my attention to him. He sat in the grass, yelling disgruntled. At least it sounded disgruntled to me. My bitch stood by, curious, but also a little anxious. She wanted to go closer, but did not really dare. That’s why she kept her neck as …

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Every beginning is difficult, it is said everywhere. Such a nonsense, just the beginning is the easy, because then you get together because you want it. Automatically one puts the connecting over the dividing end, and one can even find something connecting there, where there is nothing else than the will to connect. That’s how …

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It was in 1660 when a baby was born in Claddagh, a suburb of Galway. And it was a boy. His name, Richard Joyce. His parents were poor fishermen. Richard grew into a handsome young man who, as soon as he could, supported his father at work on the sea. He fell in love with …

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