#adrian meyer

via "Bauen + Wohnen" 32 (1978)

Ty Romero

dancing-death: He knew this is how it would end. He knew it, sure as the sun rose in the east, that someday, somehow, very likely before seeing his fortieth birthday, he would be laying upon the ground, bleeding from the chest. It is a fact that even in his last moments he would have resigned himself to with little more than a sigh and mild vexation, had it just been a few weeks earlier. It wasn't working. Whatever they'd put in him wasn't working, he could feel the bullet tear through him, break his ribs. He was having a hard time breathing. He was dying, and it would have been expected if it had just been earlier, but it wasn't. It was now, and she was in his life. A life shortening with every breath. A life growing dark around the edges. A life that would be extinguished very soon and never see her eyes, hear her laugh, smell the inviting scent of her soft hair, taste her kiss. The end of his life, a life consumed by nothing but work, was no longer an expected vexation. It was a very sad thing, and he wants her now. To see her now, once more, and he whispers her name, one bloodied hand reaching up, and in his last blurred vision, burning with the unfamiliar sting of tears, he swears he sees her, though it could be the sun, and everything gives way to silent dark. And then he opens his eyes again. There is no pain, no mark, no scar. The death never occurred, as far as his body was concerned, yet he remembered dying quite distinctly. Sitting up, adjusting his cap and looking around the white room, Adrian slowly gets to his feet. He is alive and well, and he has things to take care of, but... for once in his busy little life, he decides his work can wait. Now, all he wants is to hold her.

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