My dear reader,
These are thoughts that I wrote down to myself…that perhaps you’ll be reading to yourself sometime…
I hear that I don’t hear myself…
And thoughts are running away
From the burning fingers.
From restless desires that want to be listened…
But I do hear that I don’t hear myself.
And all is chaos,
And all left is the soul.
Cause I turned my face.
And I hear that I don’t hear myself.
The sound of the wind is hanging.
As the voice of the old child is silent,
And I, his silence, could not understand…
But today, today I hear that I don’t hear myself.