And I am not able, to put it in words. I lose my ability to transform feelings into letters into words.
It’s time to.. something.
There is always time to something.
The only time we have:
When you sourround me, I always feel weird. Time is getting more slowly, birds stand still in the air, and if it rains, it rains forever. Your presence is sometimes the knife which kills my dreams, otherdays it is Mother Theresa who helps my hungry hopes to get up in the air again.