We are impossibly alone and just as terribly indifferent.
Those who do not love are cruel,
And those who do not forgive are cynical.
We are impossibly alone
and just as terribly indifferent.
Again we are silent about personal life
And yet, there is no one to listen to.
In the hand is a sign – “everything is fine!”
And the check for the sold soul…
Sometimes quite unbearable.
Every day we hurry somewhere
And life goes on. Passes by.
And little by little, straying into flocks,
Maybe a little stronger.
But not living, but surviving,
We throw the way we were thrown.
We leave, so as not to return,
Without stopping at the threshold
Wandering into the unknown,
But again on a different road.
It’s easier: without losing much,
We’re just looking, looking, looking…
Maybe someone somewhere knows
How to live so … unloved?
Author: Marina Henning