Tetyana Kasima

Intentions

This is the third night that I am awake, I am not restless I just do not need any rest. Not now, not while I have plans air and wine. I do not need rest just yet.
 
 I never end but I am not sure where my beginning is either. I am a riddle that you so much hated in your childhood.
 
I am a thought, I am idea, I am an intention; the worst stinging and tugging feelings that you have ever encountered. Nothing helps you to get rid of me, brilliant as I am powerful, beautiful, creative, motivating. 
 
The day was golden and rainy; the fire has been set to the whole city by the falling brown, red and yellow leaves.
 
In the evening the rain has arrived like a fire brigade that has overstepped or like that fireman whom you see in the silent black and white movie who is having a smoke near the almost dying fire.  
Leaves have become wet and heavy so they could not fly around freely anymore. Collars up, umbrellas open, gloves on. Autumn ammunition and I am happy.
 
I woke up alone in the room, someone please think of me. Think of me in, otherwise I will be lost, lost forever and them you will regret, I know you will. Wake up, wake up!
 
I must have dozed off in a train, looking outside at this gloomy autumn picture makes me sleepy, not to mention the rain has started so I have become twice as sleepy.
I took a train home but did not find myself at home when I got there. They say it is a meeting that is important not the two people who meet, yet I was happy to see my old friend. The smell of spices was wafting through the air, the smell of burnt leaves and chocolate. It is like an old-fashioned picture of the world, the important events are not in color. I walk through the backyard feeling a bit like a thief but at the same time realizing that only a close friend can do it, the one who is trusted, who is expected any time, for whom the back door is as open as the front door but he prefers the back door due to its familiarity and friendly secrecy.
 
Shadows cast shadows and the place looks familiar. I feel like a thief no longer, the place is too familiar for that. I feel at home or as close to home as one can be.
 
I know if I stay long enough, the place will grow attached to me. I do not want that.
I am trying to pass unnoticed and just have a look through the kitchen window what is going on inside, this is not my life, this is not my choice, this is not my history. Yet, I am related and cannot let it go. Oh, this letting go, why cannot people just stop caring about things from their past, just let it go, let it overgrow with weed, let it get dusty and old, let it get lost and burn in the fireplace. It never happens; the overgrown patch still has roses in full blossom, the dusty old bookshelves still have books on them that I want to read, I still keep my key ring from the lost set of keys and the burnt leaves in the yard produce a red blazing fire with a thick smoke going up into the air. I go inside. What is my intention here, to stay for a day, a week, a month? I simply come in and look around, I look around and breath in the smell, breathing in the smell I put down my bag, my bag takes its usual place on the floor and blends into the familiar scenery, the familiar scenery hurts my eyes, my eyes feel with tears from the smog.
 
 
 
 
It seems that the air was sugared with opportunities, the smell of spices was still wafting through the air and the autumn was walking down the stairs leaving a loop of  perfumebehind it as  like it was leaving a ball, dropping leaves from her masquerade costume.
 
I left the ball too. I had no reason to stay, not because my car was about to turn into a pumpkin and seven mice, even if pumpkins were in season and mice were collecting what was left of the summer crops from the fields. I left because I have had just the right amount of fun for tonight. I left through the backdoor just to give an impression that I went into the garden for some fresh air and then no one will know whether I am still walking out there or got lost in the colourful crowd. Not that someone in particular will look for me. I guess deep down I hope that someone will but at the same time I am trying to appear nonchalant.
 
I get home and go to bed, sigh deeply and close my eyes feeling positively tired and pleasantly exhausted.
 
The tugging feeling for doing something has left me and I feel at ease with myself which is the best feeling of all. I fall asleep without any intentions for action, since I went to see my house and looked at it closely and without fear, I think my mind can rest in piece. What an odd thing it is, to burn leaves in autumn, I never liked it, such beauty, colours, shades and all they turn into is sour taste in your mouth from the smog that they produce. I do not want to feel that again, I love autumn but burning of leaves, no thank you, not in my backyard.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Tetyana Kasima.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 03.01.2011.

 

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