Sitting on ground among trees and cars I thought how remoted we are. All of our friendship. We discuss some questions laugh on some jokes but actually when I tried to ask her to go to Moscow together it has become obviously. Maybe she didn’t mean it but I’d read that all thing outward of her real life is mine (Cheboksary walks, talks, posing for portraits) but when I do slighty tentation to penetrate inward I meet a wall. Every people so remoted from each other. What is a friendship? It felt like a real distance between us. Maybe I want too much myself from relationship and this is normal. But presicely it has changed with years and some kind of warm I can’t never return.
After work I were standing by a tree and sun shining from leaves and silence was there and it seems like a real air of this town. So real with grass on ground with cars, building site, empty library with this space in my life. Of course there isn’t any suspicion of my delusions and dreams. There is only what there is. And I were standing by a tree with my friend alone. I was painting concentarate and was going home with sense of open door alone. We can discuss visa and passports but she makes her plans without me. This’s idle talk.

Advertisements

1 thought on “—”

  1. Friendship is always temporary, I suppose. What is left after years may be a good attitude, sympathy or habit but the best root comes to an end. Perhaps one’s life should include a chain of friendships replacing one another?
    (Such a cold comment of mine, at least I don’t like it at all but I truly don’t know what to say and still cannot resist saying something).

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s