feelings of a known stranger

How does it feel to be on a octoberfest in Montreal and miss the one in Munich?
How does it feel, to miss the sipping of hot gluehwein on Christkindlesmarket but sending bugs for this to your girlgfriend?

You are always listening to a new, unequal world. Each one is talking in his main line.
The mothertongue is hanging out of there mouths and the words slap my world of words that I create with a huge amount of energie and concentration. What happens around me - even when worlds seems to drown, been punished through icescatters. Its not my fault to miss the equal sharing and manifestation. I am not the author of the mistakes and all the wrong stuff. To feel the ambinguish colors that drop from the ceiling, to be near the exit, the door which opens up the world of deep aknowledgment, thats my main task.
The literate problem with seeing the future, behaving to the patterns of live, fits in a busket of rough cotton.
But I don't want to miss the scratch, the tiny little whole in the wall, which would break through the depper shields of touching and breathing. Inside me, the window grows up, to be open at the last point.
The point of knowing what to do.
The point of the next.
Thats my way out.