Outside the window, it began to rain,

Whose poem? I don't remember.
Years ago I didn't quite get it when I first read it.
Some time elapsed, and now everytime when I recall this poem,
I feel these words write through my heart.

Maturity
It's what I think that helps me get the feeling.
The powerlessness, the idleness, the nothingness
Everything frustrates me, and yet nothing really technically does.

If I were to choose,
I'd rather not know this feeling all my life.
The frustration that nothingness brings is beyond words.
You cannot fight against an enemy unless you see it.
I guess that's the source of frustration.

And somehow now I feel, it would feel better to shed some idle tears,
than to carry this undescribable feeling around, to work, to Deutschkurs, and home.

It is time to walk away.
It is time to travel away.
It is time to restrain, recharge, restart and regain.