An Ordinary Parting
My next farewell as I imagine it to myself...
Short mean autumn sunset is playing with traces of gold through the net of naked trees, with pink and blue in the empty air, coming to dusk. He’s here. He holds a letter in his hand: his steel-blue eyes are staring as if he quarreled with her to himself:
- I just seek for something genuine, - he’s thinking her words.
- You may do as you want, I couldn’t care more.
- But I hoped you’d share my searching.
- I’m not so mad to witness I’m not like all others and to cast my dare against the whole world.
- Do you think I've closed myself in my quixotic war? I don’t want to do all I want I swear: I just try to keep my very own. And else, what the world is? I walk through some different worlds by my mind, and you – do you claim to find the only real among them?
- When you were talking about your wind, what did it mean?
- The thing I wish best – you shouldn’t feel its breathing. Comfort me in your hugs: since I met you I don’t want to blow anyhow.
- What a rubbish!
- Then I’ve run out of reasons, I must fly away.
- Where to?
- I don’t know. Over you, I think, and just - through you.
Look about – the cloud is boiling – I’m breathing with it. If I had some luck – I’d pour my snow tears upon your eyelash to make them wet. Don’t worry: my pain now is dropping – so nothing stays with me. I’ll back alive in time to feel my wings again, and I’ll fly anywhere in looking for other eyes to incite them to hold me down. No more I hear you: I must listen to catch it, but why for? Else I didn’t tell you the point – do not dare to drink the wind: you can’t see and you can’t touch it, but you shall feel its tart spells in your strange indefinite missing about it. I just sought something of happiness with my soul open wide, so I used to talk to you in whisper (excuse me). Anyway you have nothing of me. See – the time is while the wind howls: so he calls me again – my bore and my love, he claims to take me back. It’s too late you to speak anything now, and my only way is to leave you. Don't goggle, please; I never need to break your quiet – I but felt love. No more I do – so kill your instant motion. And use your little joys, and save your shaggy hair – I’m out, I’m dying to you.
- I just seek for something genuine, - he’s thinking her words.
- You may do as you want, I couldn’t care more.
- But I hoped you’d share my searching.
- I’m not so mad to witness I’m not like all others and to cast my dare against the whole world.
- Do you think I've closed myself in my quixotic war? I don’t want to do all I want I swear: I just try to keep my very own. And else, what the world is? I walk through some different worlds by my mind, and you – do you claim to find the only real among them?
- When you were talking about your wind, what did it mean?
- The thing I wish best – you shouldn’t feel its breathing. Comfort me in your hugs: since I met you I don’t want to blow anyhow.
- What a rubbish!
- Then I’ve run out of reasons, I must fly away.
- Where to?
- I don’t know. Over you, I think, and just - through you.
Look about – the cloud is boiling – I’m breathing with it. If I had some luck – I’d pour my snow tears upon your eyelash to make them wet. Don’t worry: my pain now is dropping – so nothing stays with me. I’ll back alive in time to feel my wings again, and I’ll fly anywhere in looking for other eyes to incite them to hold me down. No more I hear you: I must listen to catch it, but why for? Else I didn’t tell you the point – do not dare to drink the wind: you can’t see and you can’t touch it, but you shall feel its tart spells in your strange indefinite missing about it. I just sought something of happiness with my soul open wide, so I used to talk to you in whisper (excuse me). Anyway you have nothing of me. See – the time is while the wind howls: so he calls me again – my bore and my love, he claims to take me back. It’s too late you to speak anything now, and my only way is to leave you. Don't goggle, please; I never need to break your quiet – I but felt love. No more I do – so kill your instant motion. And use your little joys, and save your shaggy hair – I’m out, I’m dying to you.
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