Читать книгу Star Wanderer writes. A soft whisper on the lips. Contemporary Prose - - Страница 44

– What is the vice? Is it impatience to live to the point of exhaustion, turning into a nervous lump?

– All from the beginning! But is it not nonsense? And who is there to shout?

I am the listener. I turn over my rosary as if to wear myself out. I remember sweet moments just to justify myself or to continue tomorrow. The cup is full, or maybe it is filled to the brim. It does not matter. There’s more good in a fool’s smile than in the one that gnaws at me from the inside and makes me hate you more and more!

– So what is the vice? In not wanting to see? Or perhaps in not wanting to love you?

Ah, forget all those love songs! In them the purity of words and sweet drops. Long ago no longer for us to ring, turning into a distant, kindly chime, without any hint of the poisonousness of your words that cut the ear and the memory. And there’s no more room in it for the feeble attempts of the bruised to self-love, of the offended, weak man. So I ask myself.

– What is the vice? Yes, that I don’t feel myself with you!

That’s the first thing I cried out. Life has flowed like a river, never letting me look back. Sad and a little sorry, but not to go back and start again. Yes, God is with me. I will remember the kind words of my children. In them my fresh water. And days of ringing songs! And all the rest is probably complete nonsense.

– “Yes, just love yourself!” – and that’s the last thing I whisper to myself…

…I love the earth very much! And everything around me. It’s so wonderful. I will always remember my Christmas tree outside my window. And my forest near my house. I’ll remember my steppe from my childhood. And also the chirping of the sparrows now in the morning. And that makes me feel so good.