Every night a breeze came to see her. Gently, hardly
touching her skin, the breeze followed a curving line of her naked body with
his fingertips. She was peacefully sleeping, buried inside a warm shadow of her
bed. He smiled and slightly blew on tiny fluffy hair on her delicate neck. A
dim aroma of something romantic and unknown was hovering around her room. It
was an aroma of such enchanted, amorous nights when darkness changes the whole
world and opens new doors. This overtone of a secret lived even in cicadas
rustle outside the window. What did cicadas do in Moscow in the middle of September?
Only the breeze knew the answer: it was his miracle. When he sat so close to
her everything was possible.
There were last warm nights of leaving Indian summer. She
was hot because of the caring soft blanket and she dropped it down on the
floor. Night warmth enveloped her and every millimeter of her body was full of
this warm tenderness. She was closing
her eyes and slowly floating in a velvety sea of a night; the breeze was freely
playing with her hair. And somewhere around…
Then arrived fall. It burst into the city with a wild
storm. Fall brought hordes of dull clouds and the indifferent cold. It was screaming
and dashing around the streets. It was lashing the innocent sky with stripes of
rain and spiteful electrical sparks. It was leading the hurricane by the hand
and letting him do whatever he wanted.
Too warm with his happiness and too weak with his love
the breeze was unable to change anything. So he ran away, he rushed to his nice
cozy world in a small room on the 9th floor.
But her window was closed. She was frightened by storm
and shut the window. He knocked gingerly. No response. His strokes were growing
louder and louder. He wished he could smash this glass into smithereens and
storm into the room, hug her, melt her in his tenderness. Don’t let her go,
hide her from every storm on the earth…
There were two in the back part of the room. The
breeze peered into the darkness. Men’s white T-shirt, shabby jeans. And her
downy curls resting on a wide, white chest. A strong tanned hand gently winding
them around his fingers…
The breeze flew away. To never come back. And fall has
come everywhere.
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