Пойдём, пошалим на крыше!

Тааак, кто ещё говорит сам с собой пока слёзы из глаз выползают, "Не реви... это ты ревёшь или я реву?" "Я реву." "А я не реву." "Вот и не реви." И так каждый раз.


Photo: Paul Marcellini

     December 13th, new moon and star showers. Trees and ground are in fresh snow, and I could wish it would stay this way forever. But I don't feel like making wishes, I feel like disappearing into the sky. There's a baby in me, fresh and full of future; except I've managed to bring him into the world of embarrassment and mistakes. All my thoughts and feelings are already imprinted in him, he's already off to a bad, bad start, and I haven't even seen his face yet. I feel as disconnected from him as I am from the rest of the world. I don't want him to know his father. I don't want him to see his mother. Maybe that's why he hasn't come out yet - because it's not meant to be.