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A man is like a butterfly.
His true self is trapped in a cocoon.
For a lifetime.
They say, my cocoon is dying.
Was my life just this long?
I won't even experience my 30th birthday.
Cancer.
One single word. One word is enough
to let my world collapse.
Three months, to say goodbye forever.
What do I have contributed,
what do I leave back,
who will remember,
how long does it take, until everyone forgets?
As a writer I thought it was my purpose
to bind myself to time with one book,
to make part of me immortal.
But now I understand
the value of time in a human life,
I realize too late, that I wasted too much of it.
My body may be ready to die,
by my true self is aspiring immortality.
Every passing second my nervousness is rising,
every minute seems like agony.
I have to forget time, I have to shut myself off from reality.
Only my dreams feel safe,
from what is ahead of me.
It was the 13th of October, 1978.
I received my last letter.
It is insignificant whose it was, it does not matter, what its content is.
It just chains me to this life,
to this ceasing one.
Time is the only thing, which cannot be stopped.
It will never stop.
Not even in our dreams.
I was alone in a grey city.
Deserted. Motionless.
No one could have found me here.
But my disease did.
My time had expired.
A train came from the distance.
With sirens it announced itself
and took me away.
On my last journey it should take me.
The dead city left behind me.
A bonfire showed me the way.
Into the deep.
Only in the loneliness of nature, you can hear your soul breathe.
In the hissing of the trees, it whispers,
speaks through us.
Shows us our way.
I found myself in a dark forest,
where I should find a long hidden treasure.
Into the depths of my soul I had locked it,
to forget, to not fall into even deeper sadness.
Although my time had already passed,
but the most precious was still left for me.
A memory of my past,
of the time, I have certainly enjoyed the most.
Amongst the people that gave my time a meaning.
Maybe it is nore more than a letter,
but it is of great importance, who wrote it and what its content is.
Gradually a crack was opening, a port, a windows out of my cocoon.
A gate to a greater enlightenment.
As if my soul was spreading.
My journey was nearing its end.
Memories of the last 30 years passed in front of my eyes.
in one single moment.
One last time I should fight past battles.
one last time I should feel bygone loves,
one last time I should smell the air,
one last time I should taste the water.
But for the first time, I should sense this hapiness.
A warm feeling of dignity.
Darkness took me and I approached it like an old friend.
If I only could turn back the time once more,
could remind myself of the forgotten,
could relive my three months,
could say goodbye to all of those, who would never forget me,
regardless of how much I would leave behind.
Once more back to the beginning.
Once more.
On the 11th of October 1978 my little niece was born.
I should have found out the morning of the 13th.
But my true self had already died long ago.
A man is like a butterfly.
His true self is trapped in a cocoon.
For a lifetime.