“Sometimes the desire is so deep – I don’t know where to go with me in these moments,” said the old woman in her green sweater. I see these big eyes that slowly fill with tears. I do not know what to say. What do you say to crying people? I sit still, I don’t know where to look. I have a lump in my throat. I also look out of the window into the garden. I see the climbing rose that grows much too high over the fence. I see the pond with its water lilies, the bushes, the trees. The sun is slowly setting and the slowly fading light seems to be almost purple.

“Longing for what?”

Maybe she hadn’t heard me or simply overheard the question. Was it impertinent to ask? But I couldn’t place it. We are sitting here in her big house. The children had come to visit this afternoon. A nice family. In the morning we went to the art museum and had a look at the current exhibition “Art from Mexico” and talked about what art is. She had read a lot and thought a lot. It was always nice to talk to her, because like few people she could tell things in an entertaining way. She did not lecture, she did not play a role. She was simply a good storyteller.

She really didn’t seem to have heard me. Longing for what? She cleared her throat and started talking like I’ve never heard her talk before.
With a voice that seemed to come from far away, she began:

“Longing for my carefree life. My cherry tree, which stood in our garden. After the feeling of waking up as a child, looking out of the window and jumping with anticipation into the day. Longing for the feeling that everything will be okay again. This absolute self-confidence and security. Longing for my sister, who hasn’t been with me for so long. I miss the disputes, the being together, the all-embracing knowledge. I miss our endless discussions about the best way to design the room, to separate our areas. The discussions about which band is best. Who is cool, who is not, who is right, who is not.
I miss the feeling that everything is possible, that the world is open to me, like to everyone else. That you don’t have to be afraid. I miss the feeling of finding something so funny that you just can’t stop laughing. I miss my home, people who mean well with me. Who take care of me. You know what I mean?”

I’m almost overwhelmed by all the things she´ve said.
“I don’t know. I thought you had a good life. You seem content and mostly happy.”

“This is the life I chose to lead. Over and over again. With great effort and conscious action. I have often forced myself to get up, to continue, to find explanations, to accept things or to learn to deal with them. What I miss is the lightness of life.
Oh, it is all right.

What are we eating for dinner tonight?”

And we went back to the things that connected us.
The lightness of life? Is it destroyed forever when it is lost, or does it return at some point? I don’t know. But I would have to think about it.