One day it was nothing more than a song of a bird above the city alley.
It was non a less than a heartbeat of a man, leaned against the wall, sharing his memories with the tacky bricks.
He tried to imitate a smile of his beloved - he failed. ‘I will never erase from mind how his lips had been attracting me when he laughed.’
He would be holding there for a while, listening to a dawn, just because this time of a day has it own sound. A snail crawling, a burst of bubbles in the puddle, a tremble of the dewed green grass, the steel wheels of a first tram from the depot.
When there would be no time for the sun to shine any brighter, he would stand up, shake off his jacket and get lost in the streets. As he had done last year, will do next year and next, while the bird among the trees will be singing its song.
черт, инглиш, я тебя теряю, моя вторая кожа