foto: Rene Gomolj
foto: Rene Gomolj

I am not entirely sure, but perhaps even the morning started completely unacceptable. Too early, it offered just a cup of herbal tea and rushing to the city where we arrived with a ferry just a few days earlier. Tired by the visit of the market, also knowing there’s no bookstore that could provide some comfort by holding a translation of a biography of some artis, brioche with chocolate and Lev’s unfinished Cedevita made me tired.
After returning I predicted rise in temperatures above 30° probably because of her crying and because it smelled of unbearable heat. She ate. She cried. I was lifting her out of the bed. I cradled her irritation. I put her in her cart and walked along the spacious terrace. She fell asleep for five minutes, I changed her soft bottom for the third time that day, but before that I let the cold shower run down her heated face. I laid her in the coolest part of the house hoping she would fall asleep. But that day, mixed with crying, comforting, sobbing and seeking its own shelter, just whirled on. I was begging it to end because it is always easier the next day. Tired as I was, I looked for help in natural pharmacy and tried to lift my spirits by letting her know I do care. But just before the day changed to night and I changed her into her little pyjamas I saw a small, skinny and twirling body on the bed. The body you can only see in very old photos or perhaps in some new ones that were taken in some forgotten places. On a white towel, that did not give her great comfort, she kicked off a sheer blanket. I looked at her enraged face and saw this helpless little being, a being other people see in her. I felt a fraction of people’s reluctance towards this “with life incompatible” body of hers. Towards these eyes that are just staring into the distance. These eyes that do not even look at you, but you can see that the right eye in very different and sometimes the membrane on it causes the stinging feeling in your heart. Just for a moment I wanted her to be gone. The severe tiredness pushed me to that edge where I would say go and do not come back. Helplessness in my gut when I wasn`t able to help her threatened my arms to let her go. I crashed onto the small bathroom floor. The tears were boiling in me but I couldn`t cry. I was not capable of shedding even one tear from my eyes that full of contempt towards what I felt a few moments back. I saw my face in the mirror. How two-faced you are, I hissed at myself. I was searching for love, love that normally leaks through my bosom, but the mother in me could not forgive me for the gaze I had given her a while back. I suddenly felt this urge to throw the first thing that my hands could touch towards the flat surface. I usually guard her against such gazes, but this time I could not do it even before my own. How many centimeters of skin is scattered with the mentioned indifference, the one I dare to write about, knowing that I won`t even twitch if I hear any critics or slanders regarding it. My hair was falling on my face and I had a feeling that even its ends, split from the sun and the sea water, were mocking my downfall.
I want to blame the day that had started the wrong way, because it is always easier if someone else is to blame, but that day the only help I was given, was the night that waited for me with a soft pillow. I soon felt sober. I went back and hugged her so much that no one could take her away from me. I put my face into her soft neck, closed my eyes and thought that she is the one that actually loves me. She loves this helpless woman, broken mum, shattered being who was holding her that moment. She loves all the mistakes that I try to hide before her, she loves my red coat and blinders I take good care of just so they could comfort me. And she loves all this things unconditionally. My mind that convinces my subconscious to smile when I feel sad.

And because love is blind I am staying in the dark. I am a blind man who loves. And I never want to see again.

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