Angel Without Wings
By the lost of proximity and love, humans become conscious how much they are dependent on it. The tragic history about two firends...
Autumn, the sheets are falling from th tree and pave the roads. The hopeless world turns slowly from the sun away and shows its true face. Fearful the sea of the darkness extends. Shadows dance and pull me on the arms and legs and tears me into the tides of the darkness. I never felt so empty, as lonely as now. What happened? I see still completely taken away sitting itself there. The truth strikes me, with the weapon of the debt wants it me to shoot and the time becomes me eternally hurt. Isabelle...how the name sounds...So gracefully, so clearly, as full understanding, as the person. We were like sisters. I loved her, as one can love a friend. We confessed so much together through.All the years, which left deep tears in the marriage cut also my heart of the friendship. I felt with her, exactly the same, as she felt with me. Whether over family or other problems, we discussed everything. We were so close and nevertheless... now at one time... so far. So unattainablly far of each other. Why? Which happened with us? Hadn't it always like that been? Did I talk myself all this? Did she see our friendship as futile? Didn't she feel the thirst of my soul after her proximity, her love as a friend? Did she never notice, how importantshe was for my life and that to the other one, in which she occurred? I do not understand it...We do not have ourselves everything told and nevertheless hear you my ardent words nevertheless back come and further live...Today, when the day began, I was not me such an idiom of the joy assuming to the mourning. I see the pieces of broken glass, which you left. The gaping wounds hurt only half as much as the realization. The realization, that two humans believe to know each other but they don't have the breath of a notion, which hides itself behind the mirror of the self-manifestation. I believed myself you reliably, always with me remaining...and now i see merry that itself the thread of the mourning, the losingness, which drew itself isolation with you by the years, where with nevertheless straight only beginning...How must you have felt, when your understanding say to you it is worth no more and in the long run the proofs of the offenses to you reproached? But you had nevertheless me and your children, whose crying calls did not return you. And your letter, dearest Isabelle... the letter of the true confusion of your feelings... your marriage... your separatingness to your family...why have I never saw that? Did I want to recognize it at all? Did I want at all to see which behind you hide myself, where your heroful kind fascinated me nevertheless? Am I disappointed? Shocks? Disappointed of me, of my egoistic self falling in loveness, I could shocked there have prevented it and it had not seen. When you lay there... as you would sleep...I wish I could so some turn back ...but i can`t nevertheless I can it, to just as little, as I can point the debt from me. I know that I will never forget our friendship...your dear, your joy. In all the years I believed you are perfect...the problems, which you had have you borne so easy that I could not recognize anything from your weakness and now only, where me the loss of your beauty, your soul becomes conscious and I see also your weakness, I notice, how heroful you were nevertheless real!