Something very well written from Eastern Europe. Can recommend this besides that is not poetry
I realized that outside of time, the Kiev that exists today and the Kiev that existed a thousand years ago is the same.
I also realized the other day that you need a glimmer of happiness inside you to be able to tell sad stories – so that you have perspective.
The act of telling itself is dependent on timing. It’s the wrong time to tell the story I am about to tell you.
Of course, it helps that it isn’t really a story. It’s just another pattern stitched somewhere on the sleeve of the universe.
In this pattern, I am younger and I am a blonde instead of a redhead. There is a hand holding my blond ponytail. That hand is twisted away by another hand.
It’s summer in Kiev, it’s a national holiday (or there was just a concert downtown, or football – right away, there are parts…
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