Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


oder über den Online-Buchhandel

Then our baby and I end up in the midst of books (the baby reaches for one, tries to pull it out, but it’s jammed tight between other volumes, while I randomly leaf around in many books), and suddenly the book strikes us (yes, both of us, we agree on this) as a grotesque act of human pretense, confusion, and empty hope. But a life without books is impossible, we sigh (both of us letting out the same regretful sigh), but there are worse things. Once again without books, on a park bench (with just a wind leafing through the trees), our baby’s fist releases a piece of paper, the corner of a page from a book, secretly torn off. Unread (we’re both a little sorry about that), it drops to the ground and the wind sweeps it away with other leaves.

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