Worst of all, when I want to scream, shout, so that was heard and heeded, but you can not. You can not shout, talk, show their feelings, hiding them, hiding even from himself, and cry tears and breaks out, and produced only silence, painful silence, silent face in the wind, prepyaschem hair, gushes in her eyes.
Yelling, screaming with his eyes closed, moaning, squeezing his fists whiskey curled into a ball, killing himself with pain, but you can not, must endure and seem to appear and be quiet, smooth, relaxed and satisfied. Can not be, and already I can not seem more ... I can not sleep, the downtrodden, a muffled cry makes me sleep, breathe the darkness of the night, while sleeping by force does not soothe my anguish. I want to choke this darkness away, dissolve it with relief ... break the thread of reality, even better vacuum than the pain ... so strong, so ruthless weakness ... mist envelops the untimely doubt, uncertainty, baseless ... fragility ... difficulty breathing unknown, raw memories of grief ... irreversible sticking words of indifference, irrelevance ...
Rave, beats, flutters, breaks the string, piercing ... Observing the Code, all knowing, not retreating, hoping no faith in her most ... in the light ... Terry in the clouds above the mountain tops ... in the sunset of refraction ... in Golden Valley ...
Tired of not forgiving, I'm tired to punish, tolerate tired, tired of being angry, tired of losing power, tired tired ... tired of hope ...
It takes always the latest, zasizhivayas late. She has long standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, not knowing what to say goodbye.
How long will it goodbye! This can not bear it! Need as much as possible and fists clench your teeth - then there will be a little easier. It would be better right away and quickly, but it's looking and looking for a reason to stay. She puts on someone else's so long coat! It looks funny in it and it is still zhalche. She steps back, crosses the threshold and be removed by continuing to look through your eyes right in the heart, while it will not hide the dark entrance. Hope one of those guests who do not appoint the next meeting, it comes without warning, so every time, saying goodbye to her, say good-bye forever.
And then the darkness is only a doorway, a wooden door, a warm meal with the smell of the corridor, which stretches from the kitchen, the dim light of lamps in the kitchen has long been cold tea on the dinner table, and solitude, sitting at the table leg to leg, which you have been waiting for .
- Gone?
- Gone ... - You answer vaguely.
- How long you have. - Loneliness took a sip of tea.
- You can make it quieter? Terribly annoying.
- Do not matter, near boiling water. - Do you pour hot tea to him - Well, fewer people - more oxygen - said it casually.
- How can you be? Can not you see how hard? - You turn your back to the window and smorish as the light from a street lamp cut the road at the entrance.
- It is hard? You? Well, like, look at old photos together and cry? Would you like to think of something you love his legion? But you know that it is not? Well admit it, at least to me, that is myself. After all, it's all the same - that myself, that to me. I'm not a guest in your kitchen, I - a full member, although I do not know for sure what might furniture ... I - consistency. You can walk through the kitchen and pretend that you do not notice me, you sometimes do not notice me, but it does not last long, because you get bored without me. Right? You can not without me and without that, battered, in a strange coat. You're a believe that she would return.
And then ...
Large oily drops ... shapeless stains on the glass ... dusty roadside, marked with dots ... drooping leaves ...
Big, cold drops ... slip passers by the collar ... slowly slipping down between his shoulder blades ... all fresh and fresh ... and breathe easier ... and windows wide open ... and hanging out the window and catch the drops of the crown ... and breathe, breathe, breathe! .. not like breathing in offices, cinemas, restaurants, smog streets, public transport, in the walls ... as well as the child is breathing, enjoying the rain! to really breathe ... and vymoknut! and let them flood the windowsill! and that will creep from the cold! it's nothing ... nothing ...
Five minutes later, close the window sill wipe, disguise in a dry and warm clothes ... and I drink tea ... not like the breakfast in the morning, rushing and firing, and not like at work when you have to drink it slightly warm, due to employment ... but slowly, with pleasure, warming his hands a mug, watching the "dancing tea leaves" for a long time looking out the window ... and so it was quiet ... only the rain ... only tshshshsh ...
And when the rain is over, and start down the twilight, not turn on the lights ... not to scare the silence ... need to go outside ... rain breathe differently ... when the rain is over, everything smells different ... smells pretty, even business-like ... smells contentedly and nourishing ... it seems only the well-fed cat murchane acceptable to after dinner at a favorite place ...
Just let the clothes will be on buttons ... zip or not to zip up ... to freeze a little and wrap up with such a pleasure to ... and shrink ... that was not lonely ...
And on the way home you can go to the store and buy something most beloved ... something very tasty ... and do not forget about the cat, it will be very pleased ... and when he pleased, he was so nice murchane ...
ssilisi Blog (4)
