i woke in a strange bed and in a strange person, i woke at night like a pilgrim.
by now i know that depression is more important than other persons, it lets only pets slip through. it is more important than anybody or anything else, it takes all space, and it pulls all down to a ‚just' this or that.
not that i am depressed, but haven given my presence and companionship and me. i know. i have been too near and too involved.
maybe i needed to suffer just this more. why i do not know. maybe i had a task to take on as burden.
i don't know.
i left before i got sucked into the hole, before i could get finally absorbed by consequences of indecision. i accepted to be powerless and found life. mine.
because i am not powerless and because i am not ‚just' me.
only words are just words - but they can kill and comfort and clear and help to find release.
without any intention and without a true meaning in a shared context they are very empty, without hope, without faith: letters.
when the sound of a voice has faded- the person has gone.
when no response reaches and when silence is pre-dominant as answer: the person will go , one of them will.because non-answering is like a lie, and post-postponement means indifference.
so or not so.
i woke in a strange bed and in a strange person.
at my age it is a huge freedom to be a stranger.
loss is a key turned, a lock opened.
i can start again.
Von meinem iPhone gesendet
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