Rus Articles Journal

Letters in the past of

the Letter first

Hi … again hi that which I did not tell “farewell“, but to which I speak again “forgive“ though I know as far as the word it powerlessly and is dead as also I am dead for that to which I speak again “live and hi, my soul, my life, my death“ …

Hi, my close and far. And yes your way a lung will be, and let, you will fall asleep with joyful impatience to wake up somewhat quicker because tomorrow you are waited by new pleasure and happiness, finer than today`s, and you will wake up with a smile, the flitting spring butterfly in tired corners of your gloomy mouth.

Hi, my once dearest and close. Let those who near you hurt you less, love and forgive you as loved and I forgave you once. Let they appreciate each your day, each your hour, each your minute, and will not be able to see enough of your beauty, and will not manage to get drunk your kindness, and will not have heard plenty of your voice …

Hi … and again farewell … and forgive …

Ya was remembered forever by that day. Lil a heavy rain, and, having come home, as always after work, I understood at once that you will not come any more. “How?“ - you will ask. I do not know. At first sudden, as news about death of the one whom you loved above all, a presentiment, and then slow understanding of as if I instantly was deserted. And though everything was, as always, before the cozy and spacious house became empty at once, grew thin and turned black. The huge bush of a lilac at an open window disgustingly began to smell drop. Birds on trees started singing a dead march …

Ya sat without the movement on suddenly ugly chair with curve legs in the room which darkened from a grief and tried to understand what occurred that changed that not so. Tried to experience very much. To see. To hear. … also could not. But understanding of sudden accident, unexpected trouble got into me every second of mine of stay there and did not release me for a second … I do not believe

Ya in intuition. And write our disgusting glossy magazines to that about which speak. But at that moment the intuition was in me. Lived in me. And the internal unvoiced voice with a roar of the avalanche rushing on a steep slope crashed into my brain: “IT does not EXIST ANY MORE. IT does not EXIST ANY MORE. IT does not EXIST ANY MORE“ …

“And - and - and! I do not trust!“ - I from all force started in a wall the cup standing on a table, jumped from a chair, clutched at the head both hands, and absolutely ugly loudly began to cry in the broken hands.

Then rushed at a door, with hatred slammed it, and rushed on a stop. Jumped in the first trolleybus and squeezed into the most distant seat, trying to escape from the thoughts, the intuition, the horror.

… I came back home after midnight, lit directly in the room though I did not smoke many years, sat down on a chair, got up, sat down on a sofa, got up, again smoked, again sat down, beat about the bush, ugly cried, abusively swore, sat down, rose, smoked, shouted something, beat with fists by air, again smoked, cried, smoked, rose, sat down, smoked, smoked again, smoked … lost consciousness …

Morning did not give relief. The getting wound in heart, the feeling of pain and irreplaceable loss, at last, squeezed further into all corners of my body and were accepted as if furious hedgehogs with the needles which are spread wide extensively, very much there to turn. Pain was stupid, constant and I began to get used to it.

At first I thought that I will die. No, I was sure that I will die. What to live more not why, life is senseless, and pain not a prokhodyashcha. I began to think of a suicide and to represent how I will make it.

For the second day, having come from work where I senselessly and insensitively stayed on the place, without having touched food, I got disposable edges, drew some rag the left hand, allowed veins to be blown up from effort and is insensible, stupidly and backhand slashed myself on a wrist …

Once earlier I despised suicides. Considered them as weaklings, it was sure that the suicide is an escape from problems, the easiest way to revenge life and the whole world. But it was from ignorance. From ignorance. And then I was healthy, happy, I had everything. I is simply full argued on matters which line did not understand. But undertook to argue furiously to someone something. Poured clever words, thought himself the psychologist. As I was displaced, the devil would pobrat me!

As often we undertake to argue on what we line do not understand. We speak so as if nobody is better than us about it does not know. We prove, we give examples, we lie and we embellish. To us to spit on truth. It is not necessary to us. Everything that it is necessary for us - it is confirmation of our foolish point of view at any cost which does not cost the eaten-away egg. And then, when there is the first difficult circumstance, we wonderfully fall into such state at what mocked recently and despised. Us wisely learns not to tell lives about what ourselves did not pass through, were not influenced, did not experience.

If all of us said only that all of us really know, then the world would plunge into silence. Also it would be heard as birds sing and bees in a May garden buzz. As darlings and what angelic voices at them laugh …