A tribute to my girls. The pain

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And sometimes it hurts so much that there’s hardly a breath in the air.
The pain grows inside and it seems that toxic poison is splashing on the surface of the skin.

And there is no such medicine that can stop this flow.
And there is no strength to wait for it to end. And it burns and burns. And there are no more emotions, a gray field, except that intensity changes its rhythm.

When the body gets used and sets its protective mechanism: to hold, overcome, turn over and it, reluctantly removing its poisonous spikes, decreases in size and finds a place where you can wait until a new blow, it is at this moment that you see what smoldering ruins inside it left …

You wander through the back streets and recognize nothing around. Support legs, masts, street lamps, windows and doors, houses and cities — only ash, gray ash waves away, reminding a flock of rats with its silhouettes.

When the brain, after a short break, turns on its analyzers and is aware of everything that has happened: step by step, meter by meter, or the wind, that same south wind, begins its work.

The main thing is to let it into the soul, allow it to refresh, to blow away the ashes beyond the borders of your world, to shed a strong and powerful rain flow, to go through the back streets in a hurricane to hide nothing, to leave behind it the smell of steppe grasses, salty drops of the sea dangling in the air like after a violent storm.

And then you begin to wander through the empty rooms, to re-mark the space, in a new way open and close the places accessible to all and known only to you.

And even if at this moment the pain, that waited for the wind and the rain, begins to unfold slowly, there is nothing to destroy.

There is nothing to harm with its poison.

There is nothing to scrunch and twist.


Because it no longer hurts.

You just have to wait.