just not yet
It’s already autumn in Kyiv, and people around wear coats. Meanwhile, I put on summer dresses with layers of clothing over. Just in order to feel air on my skin, while I still can. That is something to miss, when you spent four cold month of revolution stuffed in ski clothes like a teddy bear. By its bloody end, I’ve forgotten how my real body size feels like.
Induced by wind, the skirt fabric caresses my legs. I was told that I’m so light that it seems I’d take wing the next moment. There are some similarities between semiotic speech and simple tactile perceptions. They both hint that universe is not bound solely by sense.Walking around the city with my friends, we pass columns of military equipment.
I am spending all my time with my nearest, since the time is coming to an end. They tell me that I’ve brought some peculiar “paris-iness” and share it with them. It’s so rewarding to spread something other than pain once in a while. Just for a change. And I’m hastening to share, while my lightness is still holding.
It’s neither euphoria, nor hysterics. It is a state where the polarity of the mode is not the question. It is a sheer intensity. An old new and (borrowed :) ) ring on my finger is heavy: two hands are holding a black gem. As if the black hole that tends to open inside me and swallow the universe into melancholy is trapped inside this handful. Sustaining the equilibrium.
Dissolving into the music in the post-apocalyptic surrounding. Surreal enough to correspond with my (con)temporary reality. It would be even appropriate to have blue tears here.
When I come home near midnight, the door of my building greets me with announcements informing about rules of civil protection and the nearest bombproof shelter location. Soon, autumn rains and fogs will turn my hair into a curly dandelion. Soon, I’ll return to the reality of camouflage nets knitting and young soldier boys with stumps walking near the hospitals. Soon enough. But just not yet.
Induced by wind, the skirt fabric caresses my legs. I was told that I’m so light that it seems I’d take wing the next moment. There are some similarities between semiotic speech and simple tactile perceptions. They both hint that universe is not bound solely by sense.Walking around the city with my friends, we pass columns of military equipment.
I am spending all my time with my nearest, since the time is coming to an end. They tell me that I’ve brought some peculiar “paris-iness” and share it with them. It’s so rewarding to spread something other than pain once in a while. Just for a change. And I’m hastening to share, while my lightness is still holding.
It’s neither euphoria, nor hysterics. It is a state where the polarity of the mode is not the question. It is a sheer intensity. An old new and (borrowed :) ) ring on my finger is heavy: two hands are holding a black gem. As if the black hole that tends to open inside me and swallow the universe into melancholy is trapped inside this handful. Sustaining the equilibrium.
Dissolving into the music in the post-apocalyptic surrounding. Surreal enough to correspond with my (con)temporary reality. It would be even appropriate to have blue tears here.
When I come home near midnight, the door of my building greets me with announcements informing about rules of civil protection and the nearest bombproof shelter location. Soon, autumn rains and fogs will turn my hair into a curly dandelion. Soon, I’ll return to the reality of camouflage nets knitting and young soldier boys with stumps walking near the hospitals. Soon enough. But just not yet.