I'm not dreaming, you're here, close, dissolve into the darkness .. Not Venice Peter is not reflected in the water. Bruges, it's different, it is milky, smiling in the window, I see the burning fire in front of the restaurant Den Dyver. There's fun eclectic interior combines goth-erotic and elegant fabrics "21" .. Tete-a-tete, alongside thought and emptiness, I'm not against modern "art", but let in a strictly fenced places, "mezhdustrochie" their tasteless clones. Starched tablecloth, wood, silver-plated coffee pot and painting all in slapping blatantly violates time. Chaos paint on canvas is dissonant with the relief, the walls are hidden in the candle light, lowers the eyelids furniture ... From a fork and knife ironic sterlyadka suggestiruet my eyes are smooth. At openwork bed I (or she?) Scales impotence tangible, rezhu I did, I was - a dream, and both - leaky time. Panorama of memory on the tablecloth in front of view my spreads: how many fish are eaten, feelings, lumps - Nemer, a billion clumsy attempts to show love ... Bruges - Bryuzh - the city of explicit again, where once again pops mold words. I do not believe now nor in the week, no moon, no eyes, nor in time does not erase anything, diligently settles to the bottom. Muddy between the veins of the rivers fluctuate, veiled by haze consciousness manifested ghost-portrait from the heaps of years past. Bird pain revolves round the soul. Circulates an old story, time of year when snow melted. Smell of Donna Karan New York. Endless joy of children. Lesson nesluchivsheysya success and accomplished the circumstances one - all in front. Yes, in front, that is, on the contrary - is sitting. Unlike me, nobody thinks of itself does not, he believes in, works - no letters, and ezheutrennimi affairs is fundamental, a man without a past, but with these eyes. Pleased me, awkwardly inscribed in the situation of the last century, overhead ceiling wood are complemented Italian-esthete himself as such, of course, does not recognize, under foot ceramic Sicilian biscuits vanilla color, behind-the waitresses scurrying Flemish in white aprons, right hear English, book, classical, mellow, left a fire in the furnace idyllic true - the evening of life ... Back in the night following, to the window of the hotel with views of the fireplace "Diver Dan". Today Autumn and the day when I was twenty-seven. Today, companion of his birthday, Peter sad, scattered in the snow, I changed. Made from the Baltic Sea to the North castling confident, move, tell the truth, not mine, sigh, God has done - started playing chess. Croissants in the room brought the waiter, candles lit and gently inserted: "Mademoiselle, a quarter to two, you file a coffee or warm milk, honey?". Nevermore this picture is not return: on the coffee carpet - with a tray knight in disarray - to retire or not retire. Amazement amazes. And it's not forever events and birthdays, and the sensation of new impressions, made no specific cities, and in a heartbeat. New not outside, but inside, my soul. Of which occurred good luck to live and the circumstances to be accomplished here, to merge with in November (up paresthesia) sense of Bruges, has croissants at a time when people do not eat croissants and do not order amerinkano Room ... at Martin's.
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