Branches of lilac sleep in the winter, but the red heart cooks stewed thoughts and feelings.
She always checked the sugar levels in the brain, painted flowers and pearls.
And as her right hand, she has always believed that a good laugh will never reveal your secret.
Her house was always a place for black coffee and pepper. Pepper warms the throat and runs out the salt.
She could not open and close the channels, but saw flashes of light and dark blue worms when closed her eyes.
Everyone thought that she had not all there. But house had a lot of people. They sat with closed faces at the fire and smoke rose.
She fed herself with their energy, like a vampire, and when everyone was getting cold, her hands burned in the table. Everyone had no clue.
Music was not fond of this house. She locked her in a room and never let out even on a porch. Dying music left a wreath of orchids that smelled like dampness. She loved the smell of dampness, considering that in past live she lived in a bunker on the Mediterranean.
Velvet and silk told her nothing, they only ate and drank. But wool slippers went crazy and wanted to flee.
The cat was waiting behind the corner and pounced on a white nightgown. After that all cats felt this spirit. She loved cats, and was one of them.
Night violets grew around the house. She woke up at night and sat on the porch with wings on her back. Violet told her about what happened that day and why it smelled.
Noone had ever known her.
Photos from/by:
Private collection,
Lyubov, using Mitya's Camera
Ulvia A.
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