TEXT 4 Z 17
III
That night, I died.
Já dítě.
Já adolescent.
I grew up.
I died old, too,
even though I became one
hasn't happened yet.
And you died too.
Yet beside each other
we managed to grow old.
We managed to promise each other
one more life,
as if somewhere a planet existed,
on which one can start over.
I don't know which of us
will be the first to arrive there.
Who will pitch a tent.
Who will gaze at the sky.
And who will already be beneath the earth.
Will you find me sooner next time?
Not only by the books
that I left behind.
Not by the song.
Not by a name carved into the light.
Fly to me,
while I can still tell you
that I was waiting for you.
