sun flooding the deck.
passage on way.
time of transition,
also for me.
next year i stop work.
for years there has been this 'you',
a world of good morning and good night in the internet.
'you' had no space for me,
not in the 'real' world,
a dying dog, a demanding mother, a troubled mind and soul, complaints, problems, worries.
now i catch me still talking to 'you' inside: it is imaginary.
i helped with worries and problems as i could, i could not
unlock your soul and heart.
'you' though real and true stayed without blood,
a person without arms.
and what should grow different because of transition, journeys, a continuation of looking for yourself: there will be always a reason to stay the same. 'you'.
to stir around inside in self and not come with arms open.
i had to leave. sad but free of unrest and no blood running
into a fata morgana, the illusion of water in a desert, sweet for the thirsty pilgrim. repetition of wrong doing and wrong words is destructive, for a 'you' and
a 'me' , and no smiley will
change this.
it will be difficult to not be with 'you' anymore, quiet.
i hear the ship's engine deep rumbling, and my voice will have the same quality, deep in the belly of the whale.
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