Which is me - nothing more. blah.
Jetlag hits hard.
It’s Friday evening, there’s Tom Waits playing in the amp of the office as loud as possible and the beer is chilled.
I’m not really sure if the circumstances rather make me feel lonely, sad and melancholic or if I should feel encouraged not to think or feel at all.
Would you mind if I burst into tears right now?
…further into that deep black hole in front of me, a monster will come out and eat me.
Könnt ich einen einzigen Tag nur
In meinem Leben dir gefallen
Um dann ein einziges Mal nur
In deine Arme zu fallen
Wie soll ein Mensch das ertragen"
Dich alle Tage zu sehen
Ohne es einmal zu wagen
Dir in die Augen zu sehen
Wisdom of the day: Some hang-overs are particularly bad.
We’re all just following the light of long dead stars. (Finn Andrews)
No. Not feeling well. Too much time to think and feel what I shouldn’t feel.
Ich suche nichts. Ich räume nur auf. (Blixa Bargeld)
And is this how it works, is love just what we say for the lack of a heart and for once of a better word? (Finn Andrews)
Coming home after the time has been standing still for ages seems wrong. Can I have that feeling back please that nothing around me matters?
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