Mother.
Mother, often I wanted to talk to you about everything...
...but I never did.
But deep inside I was talking to you.
I could feel it, and hear your replies.
But each time I come here to listen to you...
I can no longer talk to you.
I am silent.
All the words have been spoken.
Spoken inside.
And all my questions...
you answered them deep inside me.
Before it always happened like that.
When we were far apart.
Far away from each other.
That's how it was before.
How it happened before.
And can never happen again.
No matter how much I want it...
The future.
In the future I am free.
Free, because it doesn't yet exist.
I don't understand the present.
The present moment is so fleeting...
I'm not really sure that it exists.
Mother.
Time has passed.
And I am far from you.
What is important, Mother...
For me...
Is to believe that these things will not vanish.
Our songs...
Our glances...
Our minutes...
Us two.
For we are nothing more than dead souls.
Sick souls...
Worn out...
Simply that.
And especially, almost without hope.
But we are not going to disappear.
If only I could tell you how strongly I believe that, Mother.