You are not alive . . . but you make me feel alive, and I thank you for that.
I love doing this,
but I am crying to you
because every time I am sad in this troublesome reality,
and I feel distressed,
hopeless—
isolated,
you are always here,
and you feel like home—
and I love you,
because you are always here . . .
You are my passion,
my light—
you are the blink of fire in the night,
I am keeping you in saecula saeculorum.
Being with you after a long hard week feels exciting—
you are my comfort,
like I am going on an adventure.
It is like I am riding on planets,
you are my pillow,
because of you I could get a rest from this harsh world—
why is this world so harsh—
why does it take your peace away?
And it makes you repeat all what you do,
but you are always here for me.
Despite my obsessions,
despite my compulsiveness,
you are still here
and you are my home—
forevermore.
