How we met: A Dream

Last night, in my dreams, I saw you on the pier. The wind was blowing through your hair, and your eyes held the fading sunlight. I was speechless as I watched you leaning against the rail. You are was been so beautiful, I thought as I saw you, a vision that I could never find in anyone else.I slowly began to walk toward you, and when you finally turned to me, I noticed that others had been watching you as well. "Do you know her?" they asked me in jealous whispers, and as you smiled at me I simply answered with the truth, "Better than I know myself."

Time As We Knew It

So, when was it? Time ran deliciously, then it stopped in ecstasy, then ran again. Exciting time, full of life and meaning. The feeling of time itself was different. Every minute was a pulsing sensation, filled with sweetness and all shapes of beauty. Time was beautiful and beauty was timeless. It was such a fruitful time, that bore new emotions and new experiences, constantly. It was a cocktail of time. It made us drunk. We put our days on a string and counted them, as if to multiply them, and they seemed so multiple, and they appeared to last forever. And every time when we counted a day back, it gained again all its freshness and energy, with full delight, just because of our thoughts about it. Saying goodbye to the moment had never been such a joy. Time was rest, yet full of action. Time was dynamic and delicate at the same time. Time with no effort or tension, when it slowed down, it only meant to bring us a new kind of pleasure. Drop by drop, we drank the nectar of succulent moments, without thinking about the future. Yes, we had the time of our lives. Then future came, as it always does, sombre, sane, prose-like and tasteless. The future became our present and tore us away from ourselves, turning us into witnesses. Strange feeling, when you are not used to it. We joined the audience, we became part of the crowd. We turned into strangers. Time changed its character, too. Time began to escape. It became shadowy, obscure, secretive. It started to be devoured by something gray, impersonal, blind. Time became empty, still, silent, and killing. Before, we used to pass our time, enjoyed every minute. Truly, we had time to spend. Then, we had time to kill, and it began to kill us. We lost the thread of time. And we lost ourselves with no reason at all. It just happened. But who knows, maybe, one day, again, Time will be our prey, our garden, our abundant ocean to swim in. Maybe, one day, again...

The taste of a peach

The taste of a peach is a desire that wouldn't come true...

There shouldn't be too many fruit, just one or two. The man in love will separate it with his tactful fingers and will bring it to your lips. Inhale it, touch it, taste it. Its taste is sweet like a kiss, and the aroma drives you crazy. 

Taste it carefully: eaten hastily, it's quickly forgotten. 

The taste of a peach, - she says and smiles. The souvenir of it is stronger than the taste itself, did you notice? 

Her fingers are running over the knife to cut fruit, a small knife with an incrustation, I remember this knife from my childhood, the hands of the clock are trembling but they are not in a hurry. She catches my eye and nods sadly: " You are leaving already..."

In this place the clock shows the most precise time, it doesn't hurry and nobody is ever late, - no precipitation, no hustle, no worries. 

Here everything happens at the right moment. Everything has happened already.

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