The lamas

The worst is to be home.
The worst is to be where you cannot get closer
because you have always been far away.


The cities here in the South are so hilly, it is hard to keep a steady breath. Stuttgart is a basin, surrounded by steep rises. I have gone running here, usually the same route: I start at the little park next to my house, go up a road that is heavily trafficked, then I turn left, so I always come by my brother's house, but I never ring the door, it just serves as a clue. Then I run down the hill again, this is usually when my skin starts to itch and I force myself to go a bit further. When I finally enter the door of my flat I wet my face with cold water and I wait until the blood pumps normally again. I kill possible conversations with strangers vacuuming this little flat with that balcony so well exposed to neighbors to whom I will probably never talk. The days are passing and I say "we are at the margin of things" not knowing what the things are nor where to find them. I think I am referring to inspiration itself, no muse greeting from the other side of the street nor from one of the flats into which I can look every day from my small window on the fifth floor. Yesterday was Easter Sunday. I went to a park to which I went last time as a child. I had not been aware that it runs next to the zoo, so I was surprised to see lamas, a camel, donkeys and even  two polar bears that were sleeping on their stomachs, their paws turned to the sky. On the other side of the fence I was watching the zoo visitors, families with small kids, tourists. Staring and being stared at. On a park bench, eating a chocolate Easter Bunny I was waiting for cute memories to come, but childhood was too far away. It was the lamas that reminded me of my road trip in Argentina many years back. I saw them, walking in the wild on the red earth, under the sun and wind that fluffed their fur. I was so thirsty and our car was broken and in that moment back then I wondered if I would see lamas ever again outside of a zoo.

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