Once J. and I sat in front of a screen and looked at pictures of old, sad and already dead people. It was night in front of the window. It was autumn in front of the window. It was less than a week till he was about to leave the town to see all these places the old, sad and already dead people never saw. I tried to imagine how the people felt when they watched their own sadness projected on a white wall while they drank tea and ate cookies and talked about nothing at all. Did it embarrass them? Did it make them sad? Did they have to look away and ask their visitors if they might want some more food or tell them, that actually the weather was really nice that day? Or did they not notice it at all? Did they look at the pictures with the same sad faces as their picture-selves were starring at them? I wondered if in their memory the days were beautiful, happy days and they were irritated when they had to face that being on holidays, celebrating birthdays and christmas did not help at all to cover their inner feelings. And I wondered if the only way they could find sleep that night was to turn their backs to each other and while staring at the wall for these unbelievable long minutes before sleep finally protected them from their own thoughts.
J. and I ate pumpkin that day. We are good at doing so. We drank wine and sturm. We talked about places far away and places too close. We said the right things and were silent in the right moments. We once looked at each other and I realised: We don’t have anything in common with the old, sad and already dead people.
Needless to mention that I slept very good that night.