Interpretation of the topic Bashny.Net

Tell me about the waters of your land, Muad Dib ... © Frank Herbert. Dune

I sing me a song of the sky above your head. Sing. I saw him. The depth of his indescribable. Sometimes with a warm rain falls. And sometimes nothing at all. Speak me about the meadows. Emerald charms of herbs, so that the head is spinning. Draw me the stones of your mountains and the endless flow of rivers. Whisper me of caves and treasures hidden there ...

Quiet music sounded from the player. It seems Sinatra. And a light rain outside the window. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the mattress. That's how it is. When I am home, and even the chairs there. As in all life. And curtains. They are of course, but they do not hang up on that, someone forgot to leave hooks. And so in everything and always. No detail. And this little thing is just the most necessary. It was in an empty apartment after the next move you and you know the value of small things. Ridiculous ... Oh yeah ... I forgot. Sinatra is a reason, and the rain too. Light rain early summer. He was waiting for her. He lit a couple of candles, placed them on the kitchen stool. Even the wine is prepared. Since she loves cinnamon and ginger. And waited ... And in my head last winter snowflakes swirled ...

 - Are you sleeping ?, - Her voice intertwined and gently parted the curtain of sleep. He opened his eyes. Her hair tickled his nose and pupils gaping black January night. But then at home ... He reached out, smoothed her hair.
 - Not anymore. - He smiled. it was such a nice person bent over him.
 - I hear it snows. How loudly today.
Indeed, snowflakes fought in the window glass moths.
 - I thought here is how much to raise the water to freeze and the snow is gone.
He was always amused by her naive questions. That could suddenly fall from her lips even during sex. Suddenly, that's how it is now, in the eyes of the devil, and ran on the mountain was issued the next question or revelation. And sometimes it was the same in the morning, when she was combing her hair in the bathroom, and suddenly plunged into a reverie so deep that he had to shake her gently on the shoulder, because it does not react to the sound of ...
 - Snow is water that is constantly evaporating. You taught physics at school?
 - Why are the patterns from snowflakes are different? I wonder ...
 - Well, different patterns, it features the crystallization of water, depending on the chemical ...
She looked him in the eye. Reproachfully he looked so, his words stuck in my throat and did not hear.
 - You're so clever that sometimes I hate scary to you is. You know, I saw here today. Patterns from snowflakes depend on the thoughts of people who now live here. The more the light of thoughts and feelings, the more beautiful patterns. And when most sad or unpleasant, or tired, or just tired, then the ground is strewed "croup". Or rain with snow turning into dirt under your feet.
 - Well then, let us always think positive?
 - The main thing everything is love. One love is stronger than ten grievances.
 - Why this math?
 - Do not get smart! The bore! Let's just all love infect? ​​
 - It's like the flu?
 - This is nonsense. I'll show you ...
Her velvet warm lips brushed his ...

Outside, the rain continued knocking. Cat asleep and purring with pleasure watched his dreams of cat joy. Stearin candles dripped transparent stiffening patterns on the bottles, playing the role of candlesticks. Thoughts flowed together with candles, slowly and smoothly solidify. And the beer ran out as evil. And the words of another story like that do not want to appear. They went, but awkward. As Solitaire in a bad mood. Or beaded embroidery with trembling hands.

 - Honey, Bring a towel.
He clearly remembers that morning. Up to the last detail. He went into the bathroom. She stood in the shower with wet hair and fresh cuts on his hands. She had not even noticed the change in his eyes. She just smiled as always. He reached for a towel. He took her by the wrist.
 - What is it?
She lowered her eyes and straightened her arm
 - You know ... It's hard to say ...

Then there was a hospital and two months of treatment for drug addiction ... Sleepless nights at the House and many hours of conversation with the doctors. And so. It should be clear now to return. And he. I bought flowers and place candles in a new apartment. And I waited under the clatter of rain and Sinatra ...

Call. He opened the door. Beyond the threshold she stood in the bright pink raincoat and a scarf on her head shaved. But the eyes were the same kind curious little devils ...

I sing me a song of the sky above your head. Sing. I saw him. The depth of his indescribable. Sometimes with a warm rain falls. And sometimes nothing at all. Speak me about the meadows. Emerald charms of herbs, so that the head is spinning. Draw me the stones of your mountains and the endless flow of rivers. Whisper me of caves and treasures hidden there. But do not talk to me about dope. Do not talk about illusions. Because I want to live here in this world with you. Warm and close. And enjoy your breath ...

© Antti

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