читать дальшеI miss you too. Something old is broken, nobody’s in hell. Sometimes I kiss strangers, sometimes no one speaks. Today in fact it’s raining. I go out on the lawn. It’s such a tiny garden, like a photo of a pool. I am cold, are you? Sometimes we go dancing, cars follow us back home. Today the quiet slams down gently, like drizzled lightning, leafless trees. It’s all so tidy, a fire in the living room, a rug from Greece, Persian rugs and pillows, and in the kitchen, the light fogged with windows.
