Walking down the street we meet many people.With those happy ones who call our name loud we like to talk.Meanwhile,alongside walk the quiet lonely ones,the mute martyrs.More noiseless than quiet,more apperances than creatures,more shadows than people.Our eyes do not see them,our eyes blind for their saddnes,our ears do not hear them,our ears deaf for their cry,our heart do not notice them,our heart guilty for their sorrow.They live like a lonesomely briar but with thorns turned inside not to scratch anyone,not to prick anyone,just their own heart and themselfs.And they live that way,so quiet,so unhappy,they pass off like shadows,like minutes and hours,and as soon as they die,broken and sapless the obituaries declare that they shared this world with us.
I usually do,but I haven't spend ages on computer so I accustomed to writting in Cursive
Tthank you so much
Macht mich sehr nachdenklich.
Fiele Leute haben Mitgeful fur diese Menschen,aber oft merken sie gar nicht wie sie sich wurchlich verhalten
(meine Vremndsprache Tastatur ist auser betrieb)