Fragment von dir - English Version

I wake up inside a window, frame as grey as sleeping dust,

everything flat, no shadow under my feet, just a hollow room I can’t adjust.

Lines that try to hold me tremble like a wire that’s barely there,

I’m drawn, but never finished, like a system glitch caught mid-repair.

And somewhere in the corner, something flickers, barely light,

just a grain of her, a tiny fragment, like an echo bleeding through the night.

I reach for it, but all my outlines tremble, blur and fade,

as if touching her would erase me —

and still, I’m pulled into that shade.

I don’t know who designed this place,

was it purpose, was it chance?

All I know is without that missing piece of you,

I’m incomplete inside this stance.

So I reach for you, pixel by pixel,

‘til you sharpen and everything burns through.

Every touch drains what’s left of me,

but you give this world its first truth.

I’m close to falling, but I’m holding on

to the spot where your face will soon exist.

And I swear, the moment you turn real,

the emptiness will cease to persist.

⸻

I crawl through gridlines, way too big for my small and broken frame,

every color that I place devours me like a forgotten, dying game.

But your fragment glows brighter, from pixel-noise to clear design,

your eyes appear out of nowhere, like a picture breathing just through mine.

My heart flickers like a progress bar, one crash away, one failed reset,

but your outline turns to truth, and I give you everything I’ve got left.

My hands are shaking, I lose my shape, the tools won’t read my state at all,

but you pull me in like a magnet made of life — I can’t resist the call.

I don’t know who limits us here,

whether it’s a maker or just a bug we hit,

but if I die inside this paint-made world,

it’s only ‘cause I’m drawing you into it.

So I reach for you, pixel by pixel,

‘til you sharpen and everything burns through.

Every touch drains what’s left of me,

but you give this world its first truth.

I’m close to falling, but I’m holding on

to the spot where your face will soon exist.

And I swear, the moment you turn real,

the emptiness will cease to persist.

⸻

I’m lying down, my body flickers,

my outline barely holding on.

But you turn clear, uncannily clear,

as if the world itself respawned.

One last touch, one final frame,

my lines collapse, I fade away.

But then you stand before me — full, alive,

and suddenly I can breathe today.

And you reach for me, pixel by pixel,

rebuilding me like a second birth.

My fractures close beneath your hands,

as if you’re rewriting all my worth.

Your gaze lifts me from where I fell,

my weakness bends and turns to light.

And I swear, in this paintworld or the real one —

you’re my anchor, piece by piece, tonight.

You turn clear —

and I finally find my way back home.