And again, outside the window it's a snowstorm. And there was no festive mood, and no now. You can not say that it's Christmas in a week. You can't say that by looking at my apartment. No, definitely not ...
And again outside the window is the yellow light from the light that is the only light source. All normal people sleep, but who said that I'm normal? Your presence alone speaks volumes.
You came a long time ago, and I even don't remember how. I remember that the same way at night. Just a dark shadow. You sat in the armchair and read Bronte, the page rustled pleasantly, breaking the silence, and I ... What am I? I sipped my tea from the cup and sat down opposite. Then we met. One life is too little to reread books, so you said?
Most often I found you in the living room with a book, but sometimes I just stood and looked out the window. And most often in your eyes the darkness of the unlit streets was reflected. Dark eyes, and bottomless, like the night itself.
And your facial features are correct and beautiful. And the hair is light, as I love. Probably, soft too. I don't know. I have often spoken with you. On completely different topics: from the sunset of Europe and to the grandmother's recipes. Sometimes you get the impression that you are from a different time. The manner of speech, gait. I often ask you about yourself, but you're just vanishing in a thin air, I left you stupid attempts to get to know you better. With me you are kind, I know this for sure. You told me. The voice is also beautiful, do not hesitate.
Today you were silent, sitting on the foot of my bed and folding your hands in the castle on your knees. The clock is ticking too loud, too loud in the ears. I'm not at all surprised to find you here, going into the room. You know, when you come, the need to sleep disappears. I sit down on the carpet opposite. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty three? You look very young, and the skin is unusually bright, almost like snow, and deep shadows have appeared under your eyes.
- Sorry. - You whisper and leave the room quickly, leaving me alone with yourself. And in your voice, sadness, dark and viscous. And the clock does not go any more - they are frozen from something to twelve. I get up, twitch the curtains and sit down where you just sat.
I have not checked the locks for a long time. I know that they are closed.
You're lost. But people do not come from nowhere, and do not disappear anywhere. And whoever you are, I know you will come again, shadow man...