Two poets sit down. About to talk about, life. As they do every Thursday.
One of the poets, originally born in Germany is called Harold Schneider. The other poet is born and raised in London, he is called James, his last name is unknown, and he never speaks about it. They are both young, thus inexperienced about life.


James: So, Harold. What is the meaning of life?


Harold: I guess, I think, there is no meaning. Life is a cliché. Everything you’ve said, thought or done, has been said, thought or done by anyone. Except of course, rare examples.


James: Yes, actually, what you just said, has probably been said by someone else.


Harold: Yes, probably.


James: But I disagree. I think, the meaning of life is-


Harold: Stop right there.


James: Hm?


Harold: There’s the human problem. We can only think. There is no fact about the meaning of life.


James: But, isn’t all the human has done & achieved fact enough? Haven’t we created our own meaning?


Harold: I do not believe that. Then the meaning of life could also be corrupt. Look at slavery, prostitution.


James: What I mean is. We have a meaning to life, which everyone is born with. It has to do about achieving something, often something great- though, that not many succeed with. But something great, can be something little. It is the drive of humanity.


Harold: If we are born with it, how come there is nobody that knows for sure. Is it different for different people, or is it the same for everyone? When not everyone sees life the same, how can we have the same sense of meaning to it?


James: Hmm. You have a good point.


Harold: I do believe that, some people are on the right path. And some on the wrong. But is the right path of life a defined one?


James: Maybe the meaning of life is about the present. This apple. That I hold in my hand. To eat this, is my meaning, right now.


Harold: The meaning is a lot wider than that. The meaning could be about the present, what you’ve done today, has been your meaning.


James: But the meaning must be something longer, It can’t be that short, if it only is about the present how come we can think so far ahead of time, dream, Ideas about the future?


Harold: I am starting to think that we’ve gone off our subject long ago. Have we been talking about the meaning of life at all? Or something else?


James: Maybe the meaning of life is something that is on the back of our mind all the time but is too hard to think about, too hard to understand. Or maybe we did not leave our subject at all.

Both of the poets go silent, looking up at the sky. A sense of gratitude and belief fills them as they say goodbye to each other & walks in different directions, to different locations…