I can become happy with the simplest and the smallest things.
With the most every day things of everyday.
It is enough for me that weeks have Sundays.
It is enough for me that years save their Christmases for the end.
That winters have snowy little houses made of stone.
That I know how to discover secret hideouts.
It is enough for me that I am being loved by four persons.
It is enough for me that I love four persons.
That I am spending my breaths just for them.
That I am not afraid to remember.
That I do not care to be remembered.
That I can still cry.
That there is music that fascinates me.
And senses that charm me.