Turning inward, you just look, you don’t see yourself inward. Chasing the ring tooth of an idyllic daydream, into the memories of lived events in childhood, into an unchanging past, among the blunders of your futility; you dwell there, who can whisper to you the caressing words of your conscience!

You see cheerful, bouncing players around you - all breaking the rules, you imagine yourself: It could be Order in the midst of clutter! And the others didn't even guess your secretly flattening helper - tell me, where did he go ?!

You hold your individual, selfish hope to yourself, if you keep them so you cherish your emotions! Your heart trembles when you have to decide responsibly, so you ask them and what they murmur into the gaping shells of your ears, you can even decipher it, you can pour it into words like a hermit saying a message, a silent prophet in apostasy - you fight with opinions,

sue! The True Word is bubbling in you in an immortal cauldron that you have always been afraid of, and you ran no matter how many times you should have stood in the mud! You have consciously remained a child in your selfishness! You are caring for your childlike dreams, and you would have proudly hid underground to see yourself through the mirrors of your receptive eyes, the only possible guarantee of your survival: The cowardly runaway!

I have to think on my kicked stomach and ponder how much I didn’t do on the fringes of my scarce fears, it could have been! And every time he suffered a weaker injury; flocks of roaring wolves roared my ears deaf. "Maybe I've lost a little bit of my personality, too, in so many changeable shapes!"