...

I am what you seek
when you stand, at that evening window;
On the empty, winding highway;
In the summer breeze and the winter days
and pressed between the drying flowers.

When silent dusk turns to black,
I am what you search for,
on the bench in a lonely park;
In fading ink and the flickering flame
and under raindrops on a tired day.

When you smile at the twined hands;
On the bench in a lonely park;
I am what you want,
in lilting song and whispered words;
and under dew laden boughs of the ancient tree.

I am what dances in dying light;
and what sleeps under heavy eyes.
I am what dwells in lingering gazes;
and what remains of fleeting life.

I am
realisation, forgiveness,
companionship and hurt;
I am nostalgia, acceptance
anticipation and fear;
I am inspiration, yearning,
love, despair and hope;

I am truth and time;
I am the journey in your mind.
I am the one without identity;
and everything, that you want me to be.