Rain. Wind.
Storm. It is cold; it is dark. Everything is shaking; changing; nothing is as
it seems. Life is but an image in a puddle. One moment it is there, the other
it is gone forever. And nothing remains.
No one cares, so I have to care for myself. I
have to keep my balance. Otherwise the tree branch I am sitting on will give in
and I fall down. Deep down. And no one will know. Not even myself. The wind
whispers some secrets I do not understand. This is not helping me. I have to be
strong. I cannot fall down. My image in the puddle below has to remain a little
bit longer.
Somehow it
does not feel right. I need to go, there is something waiting for me. I am
leaving but my shadow behind. Strength. Strong will.
The time
has come. Only the wind knows. And he is blowing strong. He has made up his
mind.
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