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We stand on the balcony. In the hands of champagne glasses reflect the light from the room. Fading gold lanterns.
It's so beautiful. The storm of black curls flowing to her shoulders. The perfect evening dress hugs her like a mystery and as she tempts. I love about it is that they laugh when the lips, her eyes laughing. Rarity. It seems then hauntingly lovely. For a long time I try to be madly in love with it not because it is unavailable to me admirably.
- At the show I paid attention to your eyes.
city lit up under us millions of particles and ribbons of light. Feverishly glowing point on the canvas of black. White is boring.
- In my eyes? What about them?
- I mean I paid attention before, but now was a good contrast. Smiled, talked to but ...
- And yet ... - Smile. I look in the eyes of the infinitely deep and afraid of accusations which can not be called yet, but which will flow immediately. Stupid.
- In spite of all this splendor was sadness in his eyes. That means not all the time. Such a glimpse, or rather przemykający shadow.
- We all have our worries. Preparation were tiring.
- I have no right to ask you about it because it is a personal thing. Strongly personal. - I avoid her eyes, looking over the city. A million eyes looking at me intently. - Tell me about something that is there inside of you. About something that you can not see your photos, do not you show and hide.
Her bold request from a foreign person properly. But she knows it will not refuse. Let's calculate it as a medium-sized peccadillo.
- Primal Fear. - Throw in the city and look at her. I want to be averted her gaze. - Panic fear does not exist. I am terrified by the idea that I could not utter a any thoughts. As long been on my mind that maybe after death is as if someone pulled the plug. Click, and you're not. And I never will. - Despite all the emitted energy in the night sky and the city after dark is cold. With or without humans. - And everything I do, all that my creation is a naive attempt to gain eternity. I invented myself that maybe if enough people will remember me and will remember survive somehow. My spirit hangs and does not dilute the emptiness and poster paint. That my existence will not fade and that even may return in the flesh his grandson, or any other person whose parents are of me remember. And again, I will.
I look at it. She looks at me with slightly parted lips. No dark secrets. Is disappointed? I'm leaving for a glass eye.
- sorry it's such a cliche. Nothing like that. Ot a boy who looked a warm August night in a clean clear sky studded with stars and the vastness of terrified. Hardly an attempt to imagine that embracing the brain brought storms of fire. I would like to have someone come cold hand stroked inflamed neurons, and said that everything will be fine. Me this a person believed. But there is no such hand, or such words. And that saddens me sometimes. Grieve so much that the shadow of that obscures the eyes glow drunken joy. I think that God too, so sometimes it has. It's the only walk vain consolation that I have.
- I'm sorry I should not. I'll go now. Somewhere beneath us
a police patrol car passing on the signal. I am grateful for this response.
- Do not be silly. Come on, let Clapton and will dance.
can not refuse. Doliczcie me the bill.
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