I looked at her, when I almost put eye-shadow on my oedematous eyelids.
The whole night she cried over her dream, that will never come back
and will stay too far away, though no one can step right in the middle.
The whole night she cried, despair over lost honor and pride.
Over her own egoism, over egoism of others, that she explicitly notices.
She hesitates, bits her lip, wavers, just now thoughts collared, from which she cannot run away.
Future is unknown. Wherefrom the security and certainty?
Look. All problems are not important, because here I am holding my whole life.
That broken dream, oh so damn heavy, that I, one day, may be able to glue back together, and find its place,
Because even though it is broken, dull and flat, is still full of radiance and glow.
Rain steadily clatters a rhythm, hitting the window.
Darkness snarls from everywhere, becomes materialistic, tenacious, omnipresent, no longer empty
but filled with sound.
She appears dormant, but continues, on the border of two worlds.
She is most beautiful when, in Her wonderful lonely sorrow,
in the hour between night and dawn, when God is creating a new day.
Long avenues full of rain, almost like glass spilled all over the world.
Even the lamp's light softens, darkness sings,
Rain still clatters the same rhythm.
Trees lugubriously hung their heads, listening to wind's stories.
'They took You far away from Me' He says.
'But now, I will walk You home'.
Canticles of rain and tears, everything is misplaced today.
J'ai le vin mauvais.
Too much wine makes me sleepy.
