I am always hungry, always cold, always begging for love.
I live in a country that speaks the wrong language; I do not feel home and wonder, will I ever
(and oh, where?)
Look at the fool; how I make promises to myself out of desperate attempt 'one day you will be at ease'
This girl, I question, shall be capable of long-term joy?
She can swell with longing, but can she value the simple necessity of daily bread, growing with patience, loving selflessly?
I doubt, as I doubt more than I believe in.
// february 2013
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