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Behind the door

Behind the door an answer is awaiting a question that was not asked by me so far, a question is listening to my breath ask me ask me to the wall behind the door. The days run quietly the tears into a valley behind the door love is waiting for her call magic an answer is listening for a question without sense asking itself breathless powerless. Only this is progress into a valley of hope. Behind the door runs a river a wild river of common opinions into every opened mouth and drowns every question not asked so far.