The Cave

It was as a silent pact between us:
our visits to this place could never be revealed to the outside world.
They did not fit the image we had created of ourselves and
they would by all means ruin the solid identity we had projected
so consistently into the atmosphere:
pure, cool, fearless and anarchistic.

We regularly came here almost incognito,
enjoying the world of Santa Claus and fairy tales,
forgetting the intensity of our raw and so-called uncompromising life.
The shiny Christmas theme cups were smiling at us from
the wooden shelves and the big leather couches made us forget
our deeply rooted melancholy for the few precious minutes
that were about to come.

On top of that we had coffee.
Strong coffee in big cosy mugs so we could warm our icy hands
during our much needed first-aid conversation. My sister was
sitting opposite me and she had pulled out the big guns:
in front of her was standing a Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

"So, what's up?" I started in an attempt to stir up the glossy air
that surrounded us. The café was full of people and there were
urgent conversations going on in every dark corner of the cave.
"Lately I feel as if I am in a rud", she said, "you know, the mud pool"
and immediately she took a generous spoon of the whipped cream
that topped her drink.

I looked around and suddenly realized how places like this were
a cover-up for the feeling she was now trying to bring to the surface:
The intangible doubt. 

"To solve this I will go cycling through the US national parks for three
months", she continued. "But I need a companion, you know,
for the bears".

The bears. Real animals. I now realized how deep the rud actually
was- and how we were used to fix every problem on our path.
Also the unsolvable ones.

But at least the problem was different now. 
Usually we were overwhelmed by the violent rhythm of obligations
and pushy idealistic causes we had committed ourselves too.
And here, in the presence of sparks and colours, warmth and
cheap music we had for so long stretched ourselves to
be able to bear that life.
At least, until now.
Suddenly the running seemed so idle
and our purposes so unclear.

I guess that is what one calls: making progress.

"That sounds like a good plan", I finally said.
"We are pure, cool, fearless and anarchistic
after all".

We both took our jackets and went outside
into the cold air and
crispy sun.