Hin und wieder
trifft mich
die Erinnerung
wie Platzregen
an einem schwülen
Sommertag.
Die Erinnerung
an uns. An damals.
Du warst der Ansicht,
ich hätte in der Hand,
was aus uns wird
oder auch nicht.
Das warst du immer.
Dabei war mein
stolperndes Herz
in Wahrheit
das Einzige, was ich
in meinen Händen hielt
und vergeblich
versuchte loszulassen.
© Michèle Hügin 2024
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