I'll come to you,
and you'll hate me.
you would like to have it rough,
but i can't understand
all the tough years that are gone,
weren't they enough?
wasn't it enough to know who you are.
was that time good to be cut
by the shadows of some wrinkled paper like souls,
who only wants to cut and take,
well how can they accept others in.
do you walk, you know by now
the road that leads you onward.
on that road i stand still, I'm waiting.
"keep on going, without returning the silent sting of the destiny.",
those words you said keep me waiting
standing still in the middle of the road,
because i will find love
even in the unknown with my eyes shut.
maybe at the age of 42 i can understand humans. just maybe i actually accepted endless reasons for certain human trauma we all engage in. it had no logic that behaviour should be steered from behind the cloud of the doubt, but still, it was. for so long trapping attention to do useless automated actions was the dominion of some kind. nobody gets to be comfortable with it. they all learn to lean on tricks and within the trickery importance leaves. forget about endless efforts and ride - they have said. i couldn't. intention is my ride. or, was. i have lost some of it, so now i understand difficulties better. it feels so alone, but peaceful once i got through the fear. i can understand how and why they achieve the goals, and it is not on the bright side. on the sunny side, not being comfortable is manageable by being certain in just one thing, time is everything and it is always now.
— The End —