Who do we complain to when we realize the trickery of life? When we see that every moment spent laughing is a moment spent losing, will anyone listen?

Summer House

I want it all back. Don’t give me that bullshit, I want it all back. Don’t worry, I have a list. 1. I want the late sunsets, 2. I want the dry grass under my feet, 3. I want these hollowed out boards to mean something. Like they once did. I want this house to again stand with the life that was becoming mine but still was as intangible as a promise given in the warm summer wind.

Oh yeah, I want my body back too, by the way. I want to feel that no injury is permanent and that I can run infinitely fast. And I want to never be really tired too. Are you writing this down? If I can’t have this, someone’s gonna hear from me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, I have a lot of time left still.

Look, if you’re going to be like that, I want to talk to someone in charge. No manager? What sort of establishment is this? I demand back all what you people took from me, all that I remember that I felt. Within these walls were defined generations and decades, you know. Yes, it’s all falling apart now, no we didn’t take care of it like we should have but we didn’t know. How could we? No one ever told us that the dry summer wind also blows away everything we love and takes from us everything we have. I saw no disclaimer, that’s for sure. Someone must be liable.

Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m not shutting this old door yet, I’m not surrendering this run down building to the sand and the ocean. It can’t be this time so soon. There must be something someone can do. I didn’t know, you see. I didn’t know.

By Jeppe Grünberger