Sandra

17 februari 2009 23:03

. . . .

Grannen

18 februari 2009 07:47

Hur är det Grannen? Hör av dig om du har en tår i ögat, för det där var ett lesset inlägg tyckte jag.

Psykologen

18 februari 2009 08:30

Fast det var inte det faktiskt. Det var mer ett hoppfullt inlägg. Det var inte så mycket en sorg som en möjlighet. Men tack.

Psykologen

21 februari 2009 00:20

Imponerande översättningsverktyg från "Google Translate" måste jag erkänna. Här är förslaget itll översättinga av den här texten. Men några lustigheter ändå inte så tokigt:

"As I, I think, and not at all like me.



I remember the day I died, my last day in life. I remember where I was and how I stretched out my hand against it, I knew, a tentatively but brave smile who sought answers and did not know fear. I recall a wondering, one last window to the world before all the hatches were again darkness and threw me in my grave. Live buried.



I remember that I was then, my face looking at me from the other side. I see me waving my hand child forever young and unspoiled, forever small, soft and fragile. Terrible mistake I could not avoid, fateful choices that I never got to choose. Have I forgiven myself for that I let it happen, that I could not prevent?



As I, I think, as I have if I had had growing up.



Maybe I am just waiting to be excavated disclosed. Perhaps I have found is, I was hiding me. Perhaps I can re-find out again."

Psykologen

21 februari 2009 00:30

a tentative but brave smile that sought answers and did not know fear

Va? Jag känner mig lite stolt faktiskt. :)

Psykologen

21 februari 2009 00:39

Och den rätta versionen skulle vara:

As I, I think, and not at all like me.

I remember the day I died, my last day of life. I remember where I was and how I stretched out my hand against it, I knew, a tentative but brave smile that sought answers and did not know fear. I recall a wondering, one last window to the world before all the hatches closed and darkness threw me in my grave. Buried alive.

I remember what I was then, my face looking back at me from the other side. I see me waving my child hand forever young and unspoiled, forever small, soft and fragile. Terrible mistakes I could not avoid, fateful choices that I never got to choose. Have I forgiven myself for that I let it happen, that I could not prevent?

As I, I think, as I would have been if I had had the chance to grow up.
Maybe I am just waiting to be (excavated) disclosed. Perhaps I have found where I was (lying) hiding me. Perhaps I can (resurrect) find my way out again.