This year september
didn’t come back
because there weren’t you;
and I survive of hardship
waiting for the next fall,
waiting for you.
Too heavy are the memories
on my heart of glass,
where you, dangerous
as every glimpse of yours, left a crack,
to run toward you,
and so I fall
in every passed day,
because I’m the victim and executioner
of the awful decisions I took.
The truth is that I don’t care much
of these late hours
if I don’t spend them with you.
And I ask in the end
when I’ll arrive at my stop
at the sunset of this train:
but what will remain
of these 2000s, of us?

– Räd

from “DIE YOUNG” (2018)


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