The days Pass. Hour after hour. Minute by Minute. I often think of you, not always but very often. You are in me.

And you write, the weather is good and all those trivialities and I know that you have closed.

That has always been my problem. I could not handle that, so I left. I saw you sitting behind this lonely wall and found no Access.

I failed and i do not remember what to say. Except that i often think of you.

I wish I had found a way. Maybe it’s time to find the way to myself, but I miss our talks.

I had never met anyone I felt understood. Except for you. You are me.

And the days pass. Hour after hour. Minute by Minute. I often think of you, not always, but very often. You are in me.

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Text: Petra Höberl

Audio: Petra Höberl

Bild: pixabay

 

 

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