Читать книгу Fleeting Snow - Pavel Villikovsky - Страница 5

1.a

Here’s the thing: my name has lost its meaning for me. It has palled on me. Every time I empty my postbox and see my name on an envelope I think to myself: someone is writing to this person again! Why don’t they leave him alone? And what’s he to me anyway, why should I read his letters? Do the writers of these letters have any idea who they are addressing? Well, maybe they do, but I don’t. All sorts of people can go by the same name, but I’ve got fed up with dancing to just any tune that might pop into someone’s head.

I know what the person they have in mind looks like but I don’t identify with him. If I caught sight of him in the street I would cross over to the other side.