FALLING

And maybe it is not about the material that it is made of. Not even about the color or size.
And maybe it is not about the time of the day. Not even about whether it is sunny or freezing and cold.
And maybe it is not about whether it is Your shirt or Your sweater that makes me feel cozy and warm. And whenever I wear it I can feel clearly the way You are with me. And whenever I wear it I know that I have part of You always with me.

And probably, maybe it is only about You and Your smile.


And maybe I know that soon everything will come to an end: You will go there and I will go There. We will take separate ways and will never meet again.

And maybe it will hurt me. It will hurt me a lot.

But the best way to know is to fall in deeper and deeper each day.

To find someone who builds You Without even knowing Without even grasping it. To find someone who helps You To grow And to grow tall. To find someone. Someone. This is a real joy.

I can feel the summer under my feet. The grass got greener, the sun started shining brighter. The weather. The weather? It turned into "Let's-go-on-a-date" weather. Couples went out holding hands. Stuck to each other. As glued. Holding hands. Whispering nice words. Encouraging each other. But what is the most important... Looking into each other's eyes. 

I had this feeling today of not wanting to go back home. I went for a walk instead, sat down in the park and sketched. There was this couple just in front of me. Oh my! The way they looked into each other. The way he looked at her... As if she was made of something so fragile. As if she was Mona Liza or even more than that.

Even if she was telling him how her day was. What she did. What her friends are planning to do. Just a casual monologue. But his look. This was something incredibly beautiful to see in a person. The way his eyes were shining. He was totally in love. 

Totally in love. 

By this weather. By this "Let's-go-on-a-date" weather.

I never hear what they are saying. 

Even though I am listening to them. To every single word they say. I listen. But... I do not hear their words. I hear only details. I literally investigate them. I could do that for a few hours in a row. I hear the sound of the wind mixed with the movement of their hands while gesticulating. I hear the way that their voice is trembling while saying something that they have been hiding for way too long. I think, while looking straight to their eyes: Oh, wow, I wonder if it is possible to put the color of their eyes onto the paper only with acrylic paints? Am I able to mix all the colors to get the right shade? 

Then I get back to them and their lips.

I wonder, if they just shut up, would that be as much interesting to observe them... And then they shut up. And then they ask to repeat the words they have told. And then they say the same phrase again and again: You are not listening.

And what I do?

I just nod my head. I do not even try to explain with the words; I surely was listening, I was listening to every single movement You made, was counting Your blinks, was observing the change of the color in Your face, I was. I was! But they would not be able to grasp this. If they need me to listen, they'd better lock me in the room and turn off the lights or let me to close my eyes. 

Oh, and then I would hear them. I would hear them in the way that they want to be heard. 

-Do You know why I work? 
-Because You need money?
-No, not at all. 

I work in order not to think. Not to let myself to think of all the possible ways someone could make me disappointed. Now it is 0:05 and I have been working for more than 10 hours already. I am working because I am sad. There I can run. I feel needed, I feel that someone is going to miss me if I am not going to do the work that I have to do. What's more... It is easier than... Than... Anything else.

If I am not working I am thinking. A lot. About the things. And about the people. I am thinking a lot and it scares me. It scares me to think of all these things. I'd rather just work. Keep myself busy.

It is better like that.

It is already a night time.

The moon is tearing apart, sinking into darkness, getting heavy and cold. Stars are pulsing with this timid light and one can not know if it is already time to cry out all those sorrows and pain. Sky is turning into immense dark ocean with sun goodnight-kissed waves. Everyone is sleeping, but one still can not know if it is already the right time. The eyes are looking up and the ocean pours all its salty water to them. Too much of it. One can not hold that much of the ocean and the water starts to burst onto those cheeks, cleaning the soul and burning an entire face. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Madly. Insanely. But one still can not know if it is already the time. The right time.

'I am not beautiful.'-she told.

'What are You saying? How You dare to say  these words? Never again repeat that! You are the most beautiful in the entire world!'-I said.

I thought, honestly, I thought that the people at this age do not really think of those things. Do not think only skin-deep. 

'Do You think she is beautiful?'-I have asked.

'What? Of course she is! I have chosen the most beautiful!'- he answered and looked to her side.

I looked at her, looked at him and unconsciously felt tears accumulating in my eyes, rolling down my cheeks. 

Of course she is. He had chosen the most beautiful one. 

No. He did not love her. Oh no, she did not love him. Everything is simple. Simple as that.
But none of them have ever told that to each other. Until yesterday when he told her: 'you know, the problem is that I do not love you'. 'Do not love you, do not love, you, you, you'- just like an echo crossed her ears. He does not love her. He did not love her.

Everything should have been easy. Easier. Somehow. Now she sits on the couch and tears are rolling through her cheeks. They are burning them. It has been months since she cried. It somehow feels different.
Oh no, she did not love him.
But...
But somehow she got used to be with him. She got used to be surrounded by this calmness. By his calmness. She got used to and this is why it hurts now. It hurts. A little bit too much. It burns. A little bit too damn much.

Even though she smiles, because of her smile the heart is tearing apart. Is splitting in two. Is cracking, bleeding and hurts. So much. Because of this smile it is cold. Like during the winter: without shoes and scarf. It is freezing and she has no idea where she should go, because whenever she goes, she can feel it.