Читать книгу Intermarcity - Кирилл Кошкин - Страница 5

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Well, if in the morning. In the morning you gather yourself up for a day. Is it clear? Eyes draw in space a new form for which you do not know if you fit. Or you will fit but with mistakes, that are not clear, at least for the reason that before there was nothing like this. It is impossible to find a mistake in a word that no one wrote, which did not exist. So the morning has come. It is impossible to know how to be right inside it, without mistakes. Is it necessary, for example, to stare at the wall and stir something inarticably. Now or later? Now or in a minute? But here you get up and move, as if you are sure. To participate in this is pleasant and unsettling. I will join you. I will stick. I will tell meticulously. Then I keep silent as it is the best. Then I’ll sigh and move. It’s good that you cannot do your shopping at home. I would definitely like new things every morning. There would have been a stack of combs and twenty all-weather lighters, a hundred magnesium-heat keeping cups, six hundred pillows for chairs and stools. It is good when you share the morning with someone shaggy, sleepy and desirable. It is like you sit in the same way, but somewhat differently. You know, at least, about what you have sighed. It’s good, when the foot is bare, and then immediately naked and entirely naked. To the very line of the flexion. And piles of pockets in a dress. And all, all, all. And the morning has come.