Rus Articles Journal

The melancholy for mother of

You disappeared also suddenly, as well as appeared. The abrupt automatic turn of bad phone call, before surprise unexpected, hit in an emphasis, on eardrums, and right there directly in is mad the beating heart, pierced with cold current to the heels and shot up a bullet back, to a ring in ears, to dizziness, to a golovokrusheniye. And in a tube only hoarse and absolutely others “I Kiss. So far“, - as if from other world, from other planet, from other life. And lingering beeps. Pip - Pip - Pip.

I know that I was selected, crawled, limped on this difficult and often others to me life, to that line at which it is necessary to me, it is necessary, it just is necessary to tell what we, good and bad sons, equally never tell to our dearest women. To our mothers. To hear that they deserved already only the fact that we live we breathe, we enjoy this life; to hear every morning, after sunrise, and every evening, after its decline. To hear and feel, proceeding from us, in each our gesture, in each movement, in each look. The fact that our mothers deserved above all. And what they never hear. Such difficult and to ugliness simple - “Thanks for everything. I love you“.

How to tell the melancholy to you pressing, deafening by hungover silence that came every time as soon as you disappeared? How to tell about mute languor of the lonely soul which hid in a corner, such small and to nobody to the necessary, pining in torture chambers hated flesh? How to transfer skulezhny, in back streets of the wounded heart, skorbleny, on you, to the woman only in this world who never betrayed me? Which never me to a pra - yes - va - la … - kog - yes …

How to tell you about the inept love and rough tenderness you, that which rejoiced when you rejoiced, mourned when you mourned, died when you died … How to tell you what holds apart me breaks off

from within, and forces to hide the moist eyes not to give itself. How?

How many times I said myself that I can do everything, I will sustain everything, I will transfer that I the adult, I strong that nobody is necessary to me that I that we that … only in order that “I Kiss every time, having hardly sorted in a tube hripovaty. So far“, I turned into the little boy, the helpless, lonely little boy, in short shorts, shy standing at the gate of our old house which was lop-sided wooden, in beams of slowly dying away May sun expecting the mother from work and which is afraid that it will not come …

When I close eyes and I think of you, I see you all same young and beautiful as you were when I was ten years old, so much, how many now to your granddaughter, with a beautiful hairdress and high-heeled, with a tired smile, coming back to our old house when I was already began to be afraid that you will not come.

Or I see you slowly going along our street as if from outside from where - that behind and sideways as if you are you and not you, and still someone, is a lot more - both shortage of money, and some foreign men to whom nobody is necessary …

Ya I watch many other women, other mothers who have same sons, the same cares, also incomplete family, and the son - the poor student, at you as if I the shade soaring over the earth, and I feel so sorry for you, and so I am filled with tenderness and melancholy, I so love you that here - here I will not be able, will not sustain, and will die …

Melancholy … wild, January melancholy fills my dried heart, driving a rough lump to a throat …

the House was deserted … you is not present in it … you, that that two more hours to that was here and whose silent shine filled it. It still keeps your heat. Somewhere on corners the echo of your voice still soars though I also do not hear it. The cloth on a table stores your prints of hands though I do not see them. Your smell soars in air … to approach to a table and slowly I run

Ya a hand over a cloth. I peer and listen attentively to room corners. I inhale air …

You disappeared as suddenly again as appeared. Automatic turn of an opposite call, deafs “I Kiss. So far“ - and here I am a little boy, in shorts, at a gate of our old house again, but you are nowhere … you are nowhere … is not present … “I Kiss. So far“.