This night was pounding chaos. This night fell on me, did not swirl calmly anymore. There the young man of my dreams was once again, under his trustworthy pine tree. Again, sprouted in time, he stood there, his dark curls crowned with pine prickles. His top smelling softly, of manliness, and he reached out upwards with the same sense of pride as the tree under which he stood rusted. This Narcissus knew where he could flee to. My presence threatened to wipe out his colours. While his eyes grew darker, nearing black, I beheld the forest behind him, that faded out as well. Night fell and i was in company of the prince of night. I wondered whether I could finally meet him and came nearer, like I had done before. I was mistaken once again; the prince of night became a pilot and took off and I was rooted like a tree, staring at the empty bark in front of me. Can I ever finally meet him? The more time grows in between him and me, the more I rust in the places I know. And this continuously: the freedom that lures me in, but I cannot move, I am rooted and cannot persevere, I can only sink lower or cry silently where I stand.