In my sorrow, life radiates

The birds are chirping. The day is over.

Summer is in full swing. We mustn’t forget. A beautiful life. The last years before the war. The last years before the downfall, before the collapse, before the torment, before the unimaginable that lies ahead of us.

If it doesn’t come to pass, let me be ridiculed. I wouldn’t regret it, I’d rather have this kind of assumption than another kind. Rather than one that’s too gentle, too falsely hopeful.

In my sorrow, life radiates—the love of life, the love of what is not enough.

Pessimism is a fortune. It is not certainty. It is not certainty.