The paradox of love

Slupetzky was sitting at his old typewriter, looking through the skylight into the clouded summer sky. Recently he had been out with some friends. They sat in a small pub until late at night and pondered about life.

One of the guests had two small dogs with him whom he took care of while their owners were on vacation. And so his friend, the young bank lawyer, came to talk about the meaning of life while petting the two little dogs.

“You know, I love dogs. I love their nature, their character, their loyalty, their affection and their trustworthiness. I would like to have some myself. But in my case it is impossible. I leave the apartment early in the morning to go to work and usually come back late in the evening. The dogs would have to stay in this city apartment every day, mostly without a run. Only on weekends I would have time to walk extensively and go jogging through the woods with them. So the best sign of my love for them is to having none myself.”

Slupetzky began to smile quietly. Hence the greatest sign of love would be not to practice it. Indeed there was no better way to summarize the basic problem of this world. He watched the dogs and he watched his friend. And he was silent.

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