Delirious Passion

Each morning when you go out on the balcony to enjoy your first coffee of the day you face the same intolerable backdrop: Delos reposing nonchalantly in precisely the same place you left it yesterday. How much you wish that nature, just for once, would cast off for a while its earnest attire and, like a mischievous girl, astonish you with her coquetry by sending the sacred island to the bottom of the sea – so that your gaze would at last reach the horizon without tripping over some barren piece of land. But she would disapprove of such a dramatische development. At night she reads Hölderlin in German, memorizing all those Olympian verses and believing that she wanders arm-in-arm with Apollo himself through the ruins of his temple. How can you pick a quarrel with a god, a hunk of a lover who knows what secrets a woman hides

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