What?

What is real, this life or life back home? Or neither of them? Every night the same lost feeling. Every night I want to just go on to that balcony and just watch the same view of this city. Why? What is there? Back home, I do the same. Night, silence, dark and none. Just me, thinking… What changed? Nothing, it's the same. What is my purpose? At home, I am so occupied with every day routine that I don't notice this. Here, here it's just me and only me. And they are right, I don't know what I want. When I have it, I want it gone. When it's gone, I want it back. Every day hoping to get this… I never get it. Why? The answer is in me. Because »this« doesn't exist, it's just me hoping for something that is not really what I want… and years go by. I am older. My school will be finished soon, my career built. What than, what happens after that? Job, steady payment. And after achieving all that, I still want to go to that balcony and look down and ask myself what comes next, where am I, what do I want? Than comes morning, everything is OK again, I somehow laugh through the day. And since I'm here, I have changed. I think I have, but actually I was the same before, just didn't have the time to see it. I am thinking, saying myself, I miss you. When you are here, I don't feel nothing. Just a urge, need to feel good. When this is over, you are still there. I don't feel anything. I don't want you to go, but when you went, I felt good. I felt relaxed, I could sleep and wake up calm. You couldn't sleep with me also, maybe there is a good reason for that. And again we are going in the past, I could only sleep relaxed with one person. All other was just a illusion of that. I forgot you, when I close my eyes, I don't picture your image. You are meaningless for me, but the feeling remains. The feeling I felt, when I laid my head on your chest. I want to feel this again but first I have to let it go, start over.