26. August 2018

Wooden slats

There is this building, tall, old, but cozy and comfortable. It is in the middle of nowhere and is surrounded by a green meadow. A small vegetable patch adjoins the patio door, the fruits are almost ripe. The trees are full of green leaves and the sunshine ist reflected in the windows. Only silence around which is interrupted by the laughter of her. It’s a warm smile and it is so contagious.

She is sitting on the couch with the cats on her lap. Soft and smooth this beautiful fur. Harmony, stability and satisfaction are living here.

When she goes out, she leaves these things at home and to the same time carries them with her. Other people love her for that and she loves herself too. She has this inner beauty that pulls everyone in her spell. People are interesting to her and she finds happiness in everything. Little Smalltalks, some long conversation. It’s all in the mix.

She loves to go out, she loves to be surrounded by people. Every sort of. The serious ones who never smile are impressive to her. The funny one who’s not ashamed about anything fills her heart with laughter.

And the ones who are standing tall behind her, they give her the strength to believe in herself. Bad days are just washed away with a big hug and a hand stroking her hair.

She is strong, vulnerable but strong.

Coming home late or early, it doesn’t matter. She sleeps well and is thankful for a new day with all the beauty out there.

There is this building, broken down. The wooden slats are criss-crossed on a huge pile. It’s cold and wet and the sky forms a dark wall with all colours of grey. The trees are bald, like freezing sculptures with frozen hands of dead wood. The wind makes a scary noise. The only thing around which seems to be alive is a hungry cat yelling for something to eat. Her fur is dirty and nobody cares about her.

You can hear the soft sound of a woman whimpering in the distance. It’s barely audible, but constant and painful.

At first, it is hard to tell where this noise comes from, but moving nearer to the wooden slats, it gets more clear. It gets more frightening. Between the slats, you can only see dark holes and a light shimmer of a woman sitting on the floor holding her knees tight to her body with her arms. This must have been the cellar of this house which once was a warm home for somebody.

The woman looks up at me and her eyes are looking directly into mine. There is this sad, powerless gaze that looks at me so helpless. No word is spoken and she stopps her noise slowly. There’s no need to say something. There’s no need for any explanation.

I want to give her my hand to pull her out of this wooden grave, but she seems to be so far away that my hands aren’t able to touch her. I almost had her, but her slippery hands are not willing to be taken by mine.

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About Miss Ob·so·let

Imperfection is beauty, madness is genious. it is better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.


Personal Thoughts


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