In this sunflowerfield I sat down and wept.

Manchmal holt sie uns wieder ein, die Liebe.
Und so oft wir uns selbst versichert haben, dass da nichts mehr ist, nichts mehr sein kann, nichts mehr sein darf & auch ganz sicher nie wieder sein wird,
genügt nur ein Foto, Lied, Duft, eine Berührung oder einfach nur eine Erinnerung.
Und genau dann holt sie uns wieder ein diese eine Liebe.

Dies ist nun also für meine "mich-wiedereingeholte Liebe"..
denn scheinbar ist sie, so ist mir die letzten Tage aufgefallen doch noch da.
Angelehnt an Paulo Coelho & doch ganz eigen.
Eigenes Fenster aufmachen, Titel anklicken, lesen, genießen!

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In this sunflowerfield I sat down and wept

There is a legend that everything that comes into this field-- leaves, insects, the feathers of birds -- is transformed into the seeds that make the flowerbed.

If only I could tear out my heart and bury it in the acre, then my pain and longing would be over, and I could finally forget.
The summer air dries the tears on my cheeks, and the fews that escape steep the droughty earth and the flowers blossom.

In this sunflowerfield I sat down and wept. May my tears run just as far, that my love might never know that one day I cried for him. May my tears run just as far, that I might forget the café, the cloudburst & the summerstorm.

I shall forget the roads, the mountains, and the fields of my dreams -- the dreams that will never come true.

I remember my "magic moment" -- that instant when a "yes" or a "no" can change one's life forever. It seems like only yesterday. It is hard to believe that it's already half a year that I had found my love once again, and then lost him.

I am writing this story on the soil of this sunflowerfield & a summerstorm is coming, i can already feel the raindrops on my skin. My hands are anemic, my legs are numb, and every minute I want to stop & wrap my arms you.

"Seek to live. Remembrance is for the old," he said.

Perhaps love makes us old before our time -- or young, if youth has passed. But how can I not recall those moments?
That is why I write .. to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance. So that when I finish telling myself the
story, I can remain in this sunflowerfield & never return to my country.

All love stories are the same.