AUF ENTZUG

The industry sells me closeness. A logo I've known since I could read is meant to give me a feeling, not a product. Gilded, shining like a promise. But it's only paint on plastic, no substance underneath.

The roses believed it. They stood in the cup as if it were a home. Now they've faded to violet, dry as paper. The romance has evaporated, and what remains is what was always there.

It's the same for me in the supermarket. As long as I follow the slogans, I feel guided, almost cared for. Only once I see through the game does it lose its power. Then I stop orienting myself by the packaging and start reading what's actually inside. Being sober-minded turns out, in the end, to be the healthier choice.