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There were moments, which totally moved me into a big silence. I lay for several minutes or hours without having one single thought, starring at the walls around me, while I was all the while searching for something, but even forgot to question what it is, that I longed for. I walked the same routes as I marched when I was a child. I followed my mother, who told me little things about this and that, while I was asking me, why it felt so disturbingly unfamiliar. Never was I as unknown, my luck never that silly, my sadness never that in vain, I felt as if my life never had been that misunderstood. I don't even know if I still own a heart that could be broken. Actually, I don't feel at all. It has become too silent in here. There are some birds, some women on the streets, some neighbours which exist, some little stories to tell with no meaning at all. I feel the whish to jump from the top of a high roof, just to make something happen, just to kill this routine. Tiredly I move towards the piano for I know, that I should practice this music. But my heart is collapsing, my thoughts drift away. Now I'm imaginarly in another country, I fly away and I don't have to say, where I'm going to, why I'm flying at all and where I'll be when I'll be arrived and what I'm gonna do from there on. Never was it important to me to make plans without letting space for spontanous life. I could fall in love with this guy and decide to follow him. I could have fallen in love and been happy. But I made plans that my parents had already done for me, thinking they were my own ones, I lived a life quite too common. Now I feel too tired to move on. When I was going to spread my wings to fly, they broke my wings. When I was going to move forward step by step, I had my legs already broken. I feel a strong aching to disturb myself for at least it would be my descision. The birds are singing in this sunny idylle, neighbours saying 'Hello'.



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