Every year the »same difference«
We curiously turn our heads back... in the search for the secrets left behind. For our foot steps... quietly imprinted in the sand, that we call memories. Good or bad... beautiful or f*****g ugly... but always ours. Some about love and some about friends. Always a retrospective. Some friends are imaginary, some loves come and go... but the true ones stay...
This time there will be no speeches about emotions, this time there will be no drums filled with big words... even if we could talk about loss and pain. Even if we could screams the names of our love ones in the grey mist of the morning. Even if I love those lost moments. Even if I still have to swallow hard from time to time.
This time just: “a happy birthday Mr. Strazhar”
danaja
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