Something about each of them

M.

After long wanderings one clear thought appeared to me... It wasn't a sublime thought, not a revelation, but it clearly showed direction in which it should go.

I only have to follow her... to her door... and finally knock on them...

A.

"You loved that painter?" asked Gule as we were touring the canvas.

"I was in love with the idea of her."

"Now how that idea looks to you?"

We had already viewed most of the exhibition, there is a few pictures to look it, but I did not expect any surprises there. A selection of pictures was even, thematically rounded and prosaic. I've seen enough to write a review.

"It all looked as terribly naive..." I replied keep secret if I talk of my idea about her or exhibition which just saw.

D.

Sometimes I fall into a monologue. This might take a while.

Long ago, even my wife left me because of it - you know how it goes, pupate myself, do not talk to her, just keep quiet... it looks like that from the outside, but inside... the endless stream of thoughts, I and I talking completely unaware of outside world. There's just me and me and finally I am able to talk about everything with myself that I push under the rug...

...that take a lot of time... people lose interest... move on...

All that become aware only after get away from it...

Then comes loneliness... and it takes...

Then someone again shows interest in you... and you're trying not to repeat the same mistake...

Naturally you fail...

It takes practice and years of experience... to learn and overcome urge...

You single out yourself and teach... and hope you've learned your lesson... and you're old enough to talk to other people... not just with yourself...

You hope that you will get a new chance...

A.

"When did you realize that it's all over?"

I didn't have to think, the pictures themselves are welling... I sit at the table and write something on paper that I had just printed... Don’t remember, I guess I correct mistakes... and she's standing at the door of my study and observe me as a definite confirmation that life sucks... again later that same view, disappointment, disgust, when it came out and waiting for a taxi... I watch her how she enter in car and I realized somewhere that it might be the last time that I see her... go with it ... and I ... I'm going back to my room...

Somehow I tell all this, I believe my therapist, I believe that this somehow helps to me...

He asks me: "You didn't call her after that?" I keep my mouth shut. Silence. Time passes slowly. Silence. The silence becomes unbearable...

"She has never called me."

., ...

"In this post about each of those women meant to you you wrote something, just don't mention her - why?" asked me Gula.

"She wants so. Not me. She doesn't want to be found in the songs and stories that I write. "

"You respect that?"

"Only publicly."

"So you still write." Silence. Easy, not constrained silence... where trust and conspiracy born... Nodding...

"These stories ... when I will read them?"

"One day..."