'I think you should be far away. Slowly, I can't stand it anymore. Although you're not mine, you always work it out to wrap me around your finger. The Problem: you don't love me, but I do like you. Very much. But there's no chanche to not cross your way, it's impossible. Perhaps I don't want this all. I don't want to not see you. Actually, I really want to see you, specifically, my heart wants to. The Problem: you're so inaccessible. My mind says it's our fault. I should have tried so say things earlier. In earlier times, when you, yes maybe, even had a little semblance of feelings for me, even if it would have been only the tinies one. At that time in fall,when everything seemd to come to a happy end. In those days, when you told me how much you liked me.   I whish, strongly, I could turn the time back to this moment and save it. In a jar or something like that. But now it's only the alkohol in your blood, in your heart which can be blamed for the appearance of you liking me just a little. According to your sober words, you 'know me very well'. But what connects 'knowing somebody' with 'loving somebody'? We know our worst enemies the best. But we want to stay mysterious to the ones we love. Maybe that's my problem. I trusted you from the first second. That's what is my problem. But obviously, we always search the fault with us. To come to an end: I miss you!'