The rainiest summer I´ve ever known, but the best in a piece of forever. I had to read you between the lines and that was never simple, never in one single direction -- always colourful. But you were really just a dream to take me the distance. From one point to the next. From one line to the other. A questionmark, an exclamationpoint on my journey onwards. As I watched you watch me. I looked through your eyes and saw a golden girl. Through a boy clad in black, next to her -- green eyes shining. And all else seemed to fade. Then you kept on walking through a map of miles. Down south. Languages passing in front of your eyes, under your feet, through your hands. Those hands of yours: cut, disfigured, used -- just like you.
You´ll be my poem for a while.
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