There you are, standing on the porch, starring out into nowhere. This face of yours, not much older than mine, yet, so full of sorrow. When you smile, your face lightens up like a little light breaking the darkness. But this darkness, without doubt, makes the shape of your face.
You want to build your house in the clouds, you say. „On this one“, pointing at the sky.
„You might need to hurry“, I say, as the clouds slowly move on.
But you’re taking your time, you say. You’ve got all the time in the world. And as if to tie yourself to this world, this earthly, solid ground, you take up all the burden you can. The heavier, the better, as if to keep you from floating up into space. Or up to this little house of yours, where you’d be able to rest, to finally live in peace.
You chose that heavy burden, to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself busy carrying. Keep yourself busy to keep your mind of things, keep searching for something, that may not exist. Is this religion?
We live in opposite worlds, but listening to you, I hear myself speak.
This endless search of yours, this deliberate restlessness, and this curiosity, that slowly turned into pain over the years. I’ve got it all, why am I still hurting? I have been pacing. I have been racing and chasing, those memories of mine, enough for plenty of lives. I did it all, for better and for worse, felt it all, from peace to pain, distress and despair.
“Opposite worlds are sometimes pretty close to one another”, you say, and listening to you, I get scared.
I used to be happy, all too familiar with this bubbly, joyful feeling of excitement that comes with a dream. Those dreams that swept me off my feet at day and kept me up at night. They’re gone. It almost seems like the greatest burden of living the dream is that there won’t be anything left to dream of. I am still pacing, though. Fast, fast - but where?
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