Читать книгу She miss you - Lerysol - Страница 10

Morning motifs. Working days. Sleepy city. The avenues are in disrepair. Waking up a little. Stretching. French motifs. Everything is familiar. Coffee. The smell of croissants for breakfast. The windows are permeated with cold. Observers. Not in a hurry. Allowing others to dive thoughtlessly. Not rushing in action.

Slowly, noticing how he treats his father, with all his shortcomings. With dirty soles, evicting them to public ones. Accepting payment for any action offered out of courtesy. Slowly, noticing how he treats the dog, with all the ostentatious joy, taking advantage of free access, with the opportunity to put the cute in the grid for public approval. Taking for granted the maintenance of a four-legged animal, as if not trying to create and build a common thing in advance. There are no complaints, only a statement of the lack of upbringing. Without hurrying noticing how she melted under the injustice of her mother, manipulating pity and aggression. Slowly noticing how I was drawn to sharing content with fickle, wind-filled ones, dancing, bending, imagining myself among imaginary friends, plunging into pink delusions. Slowly, noticing how shamelessly I did not know how to defend what was entrusted to me, in the next attempts to please other predators, to wag my shabby tail, in fears of my own thoughts, and returning my dear, entrusted with dents, in shabby, in broken. The corrupt character of the servant girl is stupid. Admitting the possibility of ugly kicking those who, with sincere hugs, imbued with an understanding of the essence – obligation, thoughtfulness in actions, reading pages from past experience. A little less modesty, again abandoned with leaves, powdered with snow, more ice needles in the heart. Loud vows, pronounced at the moment of your own confidence, about your own devotion, about choosing a future path without a companion, are dispelled in moments, predictably meeting on services. Fenders tend to get wet and heavy, especially in such a climate. At times, it is like a dove cowering in a passage. Nothing of his own was created, everything was next to each other, from the barrel, allowing himself to disdainfully blurt out words in colors about the first steps of his companion, cutting up the helpless blanks with criticism. Who is she? Who allowed it? A little more – and the predator will tear apart in an instant, protecting its created, still so small. Tears, drops, girlish resentments with a vulgar lack of education. Hush, hush… No one will say anything in response, in the past. They just silently cross out the name from the notebook, deleting everything possible that previously connected. By gluing the label, it is insatiable, alien, vulgar. How could it be otherwise? To wander again, begging for ghostly huskies. Refusals are pouring in like a fan, sand ones are counting down in selfish indifference. Continuing his winding path, going through small ones in the complete darkness of loneliness. It is difficult to try to please with each new one, to tie up any for the future, having a difficult backpack with past experience. More and more often more harshly, more often more intolerant, more and more often less energy to laugh at other people’s stupid jokes. Without hurrying, noticing, the inner state methodically with a scalpel, more and more distant with his own indifference, without interest in the absolute, which feeds, as if a fleeting view of a short film, not for repeated attention. I am covered with a vacuum, comforting myself with a different dawn in colors, with other possibilities. Crowds of settling in their own caves, surrounding themselves with understandable, predictable and comfortable ones.

Everyday. Crises in the mind. Mid-daylight. The winter sun hurries those in a hurry. Recruitment, connection with the similar. Conditioned. Sat down – everything is normal, the beginning is about nothing, as before. Boring with summer burdens the stories about vacation in the tropical, comparing the former one by the ocean. Boredom in it is like cobwebs. Discussed, skipped, squeezed, betrayed sarcasm drops. Emptiness. Exchanged prickly. Wave of text, following about the affairs of this and that, floundering prospects. Having exhausted the possible. Smoothly transferring to the excellent accessibility of a cramped, million-strong metropolis.

Slammed. “Not about me? And I’m flying again. I fly, flapping my wings, I am bored for a long time with people I meet, in moments I expose their truth, the grayness of their true perception is boring. Sadly. But my flight begins to amuse me, I compare myself to a bird. A little difficulty, but so easy to get away from the dirt of the cold. I took it from the window. I want to drink with gas and sleep. And then watch the flaps of the snow-white wing. It’s time, it’s time… I will take my time getting ready – they will announce soon. How are you there? Smooth ice. With a minus? It’s cold? Maybe you’ll come? Come, take the blond dog and come, the ocean and I miss you. Let’s take a dip. A star in beach gold. Let’s indulge. We’ll drown with kisses. We’ll joke endlessly and crumple the snow-white. I’m dreaming. Again. Butterflies are fluttering there.