Everything’s way simple. Here’s you, sitting on your twirling chair and reading these lines; here’s my cup of coffee on the table, that has one of its corners nibbled; here’s the old rarity ashtray on the smooth “a la marble” windowsill; here’s the Winston cigarette pack and the favorite black ‘feudor’ lighter. Peering into the sharp darkness outside the window, dissolved with the weak light of the lonely street lamp… I wonder, what am I looking there for each time?
Probably, for the new universe.
If the world could be divided into separate objects and metaphors, that it consists of, what would be left over? Probably, nothing: the emptiness. If we would break that multitude of thin and time-to-time hardly perceptible connections that twine us like a net, what we’ll become like? Faceless, dead.
Here’s you, already caught by my casual though – and what are you like: now, always, never? What do you desire? What do you dream about in the morning time?
There’s just one thing I know for sure: you’re the whole universe, and it is bigger of this world.
And here’s your life in Someone’s hand. And that’s way not simple: difficult it is for the universe to fit in hand, even in the biggest one of those existing.
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