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Seven Years by Christiane Grelland

This is where I come to do nothing, which I have been for seven years.

There is nothing else to do, so I come here in hope to find something

different.

I don’t know why I can’t find what I’m looking for somewhere beautiful

and interesting. I guess I just settled at some point.

Sometimes I am scared without knowing why. It might be that I am

scared of life. Being left alone, aging, loving someone too much or

not loving them enough. I do not know but it might be something in

between.

Why don’t I have anybody that could use the gentlemens side of the toilet?

I think this tree looks like a proud deer from this angle. Proud is such a

beautiful, strong and wise word. The tree things i crave the most for myself.

I found a tree in the woods the other day. Somebody had chopped it

down and just left it. Like it was useless and unimportant. It is still there.

Rotten and a reminder of a mistake somebody made long time ago.

Theese are the things i lost, my broken dreams and hopes. All crushed

in a pile of light red targets that was made to be destroyed.

Everytime I see something as ugly as this, it makes me want to cry. I will never

be like this. Used up and thrown away somewhere.

I often think about building something. I am talking about a home, a safe

place, a relationship. The things you would think we needed to be happy.

At least, that’s what everybody is saying.