twilight [Theme]

The web, smelling of juniper and fir needles, has crystal tints. A soft velvet scarf of new life is knitted. Freeze, touch your face and forget. Autumn is coming. The threads of fate are woven.

eyes of strangers and full of pain ...

evening, twilight century and day.

ANNABELLE: About fears? Of course. About the plan too. As I understood that it was necessary to wait out the night. Such a sweet one, he says, he tried to sleep, but it’s hard, everything hurts, then some sounds started. He got scared. I even thought about jumping into the sea right away - thank God I didn’t try my luck. He says you can’t speak the fear of the dark - it’s not rational. Not even fear, but horror. And then he sat on the edge, hung his legs over the abyss and sang songs. Lullabies. And psalms. Well, isn't it a bobblehead? And then he began to play with himself, he invented a mermaid for himself in a cave, he talked to her until the morning, he says, she answered him. She also sang lullabies. And her hair is pink. Funny paw, he says, he got out only after dinner because of her, so it would have been possible earlier, but she didn’t let him in. He persuaded her to support him on the rocks. Thank God, apparently, persuaded. Came back without a scratch, hare. And this year already, in the winter ...

ruin the whole thing.

It was dusk. Mysteriously flickering,
The two-horned sickle of the moon looked out my window...
Over a peaceful city, trembling and freezing,
The cathedral bell hummed measuredly...
Along a dark street with tenacious gold
Lights were drawn. But the lamp on the table
I hesitated to light up, embraced by silence,
And sweetly dreamed in silence.

Twilight, how quiet and gentle you are! Pink reflections, still trembling on the horizon, like the agony of a dying day with the victorious onset of night, the lights of candelabra, protruding in deep red spots against the background of the last glow of the sunset, heavy curtains that an invisible hand pulls down from the depths of the East, like reflections of those contradictory feelings that struggle in the heart of a person in the lonely hours of his life.

Finally, I am allowed to rest, plunged into twilight. First of all, a double turn of the key in the lock. It seems to me that this will further increase my loneliness and erect barricades that will henceforth create a barrier between me and the outside world.

The relationship between them was too complicated and confusing, so now I take an example from Bella Swan and remain neutral, like Switzerland.

The history of European walruses. The decline of civilization. Tired and formless twilight of the gods. Faded banners of human rights. Sale of an entire continent. The impending flood. Fussy traders, concerned only with price conjuncture. A pitiful dance at the edge of a volcano. Nations, slowly driven again to the slaughter. The sheep will be sacrificed, the fleas will be saved. As always.

yes the lilac evening dusk ...

This is what I'm waiting for.

Gianni sculpted fantastically fast. Everything in his yard was pampering. He always had a dozen orders plus everything he sculpted for himself. The ecstasy of St. Catherine, for example. He played with materials - wood, bronze, marble, granite. He made metal look like stone, stone, like wood, turned wood into bronze, but so too - dabbled. He always sculpted in full growth.
St. Catherine was circling with him. The Church always puts its saints static, and his marble of her robes spilled, scattered evening dress - the luxury of fabrics. From under the dress of St. Catherine curls were knocked out and curled on the cheeks, on the lips open, the perfect shape of the lips, wrapped tears - marble, but so real that you believed - they are transparent, salty and hot. Tears wet her lips, her eyes closed, her eyelids light like the wings of a bat. Like the wings of a bat - trembling, you believed - tremble eyelids at St. Catherine in ecstasy. And the whole figure of heavy marble was weightless - about to take off. Dance through the air.
Gianni sculpted Katerina from the Stasi. But I saw the Stasi so magnificent only once - in Italy on a rock. Stasi in a heavy robe after an evening swim with a towel on his hair, Stasi champagne hit the heart, we are sixteen, twilight stuck to us purple cotton candy. The Stasi, kissed, summer, swirled to herbert's songs - in pain, rage, happiness. In the pain of the horror of realizing that maybe she would never pull such openness again, she would never feel so good. Furious that childhood is gone, that Herbert and I competed for a transparent girl, but now she can't keep up with us. And she'll never keep up. In rage, pain, that these are the last rays of the sun, when it is the center for us. In happiness - and how without happiness on the rocks of Italy, when you cause a slight intoxication in the lord and the brightest of his warriors? As without happiness?

He is in no hurry to go home.