All is quiet, night black and calm – a loving peace.
Spring will soon be here – overgrown country lanes,
smell of new mown hay and always the call of the sea around the
island, the island…
I read my diaries and think about you – your aura in a past
setting like the brilliance of an isolated diamond on a
broken ring. Soon perhaps I will be strong again.
Memory is strange. In the nuance of each new thought,
everything we shared is reassessed, re-evaluated and each
second one less in an individual lifespan. England, London,
my room, you. How responsible were we for our conflicts and actions?
Isolated now I try to understand. Was it the environment
which should be blamed while we try to break the strings of our
puppeteer and loose each other because of the time-space dimension
which brought us temporarily together?