So, this very first time I had to make myself understood. Now I’m trying to remember all the lies I’ve told you.
Finally, I came to a conclusion. You are not. Funny? Yes. When I last saw you, early autumn feelings stretched under an ivory skin and I, fallen in a deep, ireversible melancholy, struggled to come back to senses. I never saw you since then. All those late chats in the garden made me feel guilty for everything I haven’t confessed. And your eyes seemed to blame me for your own indecision. Those dark, cold purplish, eyes. I could have kept that frame for myself, and could have saved my words for another. But you, blaming on me, as if you put me in a deep hypnotic trance, searching for my sins, disturbing my memories, looked only for your grudge against me. Have you got enough reasons? Nevertheless, the cup of tea waited for you in the garden. I’ve learned that with you, memories soak in tea, as in a glossy mirror, and tea gives them back to you,in the end. All the brightness of a short fret and all the madness of a rescue. Now, I see your hands bringing it to me. And I wonder where were you thinking when looking into the cup. I chose you. But now I can’t imagine the end of our story. In the deep green of the garden, I remember you standing as a shadow, listening to my lies. And smiling, as retrieving all my memories. And the flowers fading around you. No answer for me, as I acted like a coward. Strolling and looking at you, I found pieces of myself, split in the glossy mirror. I’ve poured you poison in your soul and you’ve forgiven all the rancour. Have you got enough reasons? One can give up faith but never give up love. A kind of poison. I can look back now and remember every twitch and every twinkle, every oath and every inch of skin. And the cup of tea, in the garden, with no feelings and no memories.