February 28, 2015
February 23, 2015
Dear B
It is snowing in this town. Snow reminds me
of you.
A couple walks down the alley, behind the
wooden cottages. They seem to ignore my presence. They are in love. Some
stories end there. Ours never took that path. He will probably kill her in a year
or two, or maybe later once she gives birth to their fourth child. But she
keeps giving birth to daughters. He is postponing his plan every year.
It is cold here and lonely. I used to find the image of two lovers walking
hand in hand under the snow, appealing. Today, this image bores me more than anything else,
yet it is the only one I seem to encounter.
My book is interrupted again. The image of
that couple in my mind.. and my page stays empty. I am sucking passionately on that spoon dipped
in the sweetest Doshab ever made in this place. The strange molasses slides
gently through my burning throat.
The man and the woman are still holding
hands under the snow. They have the same boring, cliché posture that I see in
the black and white movies of the Nouvelle Vague. She manages to keep her glittery
smile despite the sadness. He is serious under his grey trench coat. I am
trying to create passion around their stories. All attempts are remaining unsuccessful
in my book.
Writing their stories is crucial, in order
to conceal ours.
I am suddenly feeling very old,
As old as the snow,
wondering what happened to that couple
wondering where I buried all those disturbing
thoughts
wondering when I suddenly became numb
numb to the snow and the loneliness
numb to love stories and couples walking
under the snow.
Nothing is left inside worth writing
about.
L
February 15, 2015
«DOTYK» – першы беларускі квiр-кінафестываль у Мінску
Сярод гасцей кінафестываля "Дотык" - візуальная мастачка з Армении Лусiнэ Талалян.
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