TIME, I FORGIVE YOU

๐–ถ๐—๐–พ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–ผ๐—Ž๐–ฟ๐–ฟ๐–พ๐–ฝ, ๐—Œ๐–ผ๐—‹๐–บ๐—๐–ผ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐–ผ๐—‹๐–บ๐—‰๐–พ๐–ฝ, ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—…๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ, ๐—€๐—…๐–บ๐—“๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—€๐—…๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–ฝ, ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—’ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—†๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–ฟ๐—Ž๐—…. ๐–ณ๐—๐–พ๐—’ ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—†๐–พ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‹๐—๐—’๐—๐—๐—† ๐—‹๐–พ๐—†๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ป๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—„๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐— ๐–บ๐—€๐–พ๐—Œ, ๐—€๐–พ๐—‡๐–พ๐—‹๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ, ๐–ผ๐—’๐–ผ๐—…๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—€๐–พ๐—Œ. ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–บ๐—…๐—๐–บ๐—’๐—Œ ๐–บ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐—‰ ๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐–ฝ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—…๐—๐–บ๐—’๐—Œ ๐–บ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐—‰ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—…๐—Ž๐—€๐—€๐—‚๐—Œ๐— ๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ๐—Œ, ๐–ป๐—Ž๐— ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐—๐—…๐—’, ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐–ผ๐—„๐—…๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐—…๐—’ and too ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐—Œ๐—. ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—‡๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‰ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–บ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—, ๐—‡๐—ˆ ๐—†๐–บ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—‹๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ผ๐—‚๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ป๐–พ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ. ๐–ฒ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ๐—Œ, ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–ป๐—‹๐—Ž๐—๐–บ๐—… ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—…๐—…, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—, ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐–บ ๐—‰๐–บ๐—๐— ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—†๐—Ž๐–ผ๐— ๐–บ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐—Ž๐–ผ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐—, ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐— ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—…๐–บ๐— ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐–บ๐—’ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—Ž๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—†๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—Ž๐—Œ. ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—Œ๐—‚๐—†๐—‰๐—…๐—’ ๐—„๐–พ๐–พ๐—‰ ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—†๐—Ž๐–ผ๐— ๐–พ๐—…๐—Œ๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ.

๐– ๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ๐—Œ, ๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–พ ๐—€๐—…๐—‚๐—†๐—‰๐—Œ๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐—‰๐–บ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—† ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ณ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐–พ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐—๐—Œ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ, ๐–บ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—๐—…๐–พ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—ƒ๐—Ž๐—Œ๐— ๐–พ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐— ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‚๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–บ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐–ฟ๐—‚๐—‡๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—’ ๐–ฟ๐–พ๐–พ๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ณ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐–พ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐—๐—Œ ๐—๐–พ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–บ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐—†๐—Ž๐–ผ๐— ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐–ผ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡, ๐—๐–บ๐—…๐—„ ๐–บ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–บ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—๐—…๐–พ ๐—‡๐—‚๐—†๐–ป๐—…๐–พ๐—‹, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐—†๐—‚๐—…๐–พ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—’. ๐–จ๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐—๐—Œ, ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ถ๐–พ ๐—‰๐—Ž๐— ๐–บ๐—Œ๐—‚๐–ฝ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—€๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐—๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ถ๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—Œ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‹๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—Ž๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐–พ๐–พ๐—… ๐—๐—ˆ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐—„๐–ฟ๐—Ž๐—… ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–บ๐–ป๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐–บ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—๐—…๐–พ ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—‡๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ. ๐–ณ๐—๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐—๐—Œ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—ˆ๐— ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—€๐–พ๐— ๐—Ž๐—‰, ๐–ฝ๐—Ž๐—Œ๐— ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹๐—Œ๐–พ๐—…๐—๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ๐–ฟ, ๐–ฝ๐—‹๐—’ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ, ๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐–ผ๐—„ ๐–บ ๐—‰๐—…๐–บ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–ป๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—„๐–พ๐—‡๐—‡๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–บ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—‰๐–บ๐–ผ๐–พ. ๐–ถ๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐— ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—…๐—…๐—ˆ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—Œ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐—…๐—’ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—€๐–พ๐— ๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—†๐—Ž๐–ผ๐— ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—๐–พ๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‡, ๐–ป๐—Ž๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—ˆ๐— ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ, ๐—Œ๐—ˆ ๐—๐–พ ๐—„๐–พ๐–พ๐—‰ ๐—Ž๐—‰ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—‚๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐—„๐–พ. ๐–ถ๐–บ๐—‚๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐—†๐—‰๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Ž๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‡๐–พ๐—‘๐— ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ. ๐–ถ๐–บ๐—‚๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—‚๐—‡๐— ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐—‚๐—…๐—Ž๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ. ๐–ถ๐–บ๐—‚๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—… ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—† ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–บ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—๐—…๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹๐–บ๐—€๐–พ.

๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—†๐–บ๐—‹๐—„ ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‰ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐—…๐—… ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ ๐—๐–พ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ, ๐—’๐–พ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—„๐–พ๐–พ๐—‰ ๐—‰๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—€๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—…๐–พ๐–ฟ๐— ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ, ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—†๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ. ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—๐—‹๐—Ž๐—Œ๐— ๐—‹๐–บ๐—“๐—ˆ๐—‹-๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐—‰ ๐—‰๐–บ๐—‡๐—€๐—Œ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Ž๐—Œ, ๐—๐—๐—‹๐—Ž๐—Œ๐— ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐—ˆ ๐–บ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—€๐—€๐—’ ๐—๐–บ๐—“๐–พ, ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐–ผ๐—…๐—Ž๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–ฟ๐—‚๐—…๐—… ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–พ๐—’๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐— ๐—‰๐—Ž๐–ฝ๐–ฝ๐—…๐–พ๐—Œ. ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—๐—‡, ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐–บ๐—Ž๐—€๐—๐— ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–พ๐—‘๐—๐–บ๐—Ž๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ. ๐–ณ๐—๐–บ๐—โ€™๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—‚๐—‡ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—„๐–พ๐–พ๐—‰ ๐–ผ๐—…๐–บ๐—‚๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—‚๐–ผ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—’. ๐–ถ๐–พ ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—„๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ถ๐–พโ€™๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—†๐–พ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พโ€™๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—๐–บ๐–ฝ ๐–บ ๐—‹๐—Ž๐—‡-๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—Ž๐—‹๐—‹๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–พ๐–บ๐–ผ๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ ๐—๐–พ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐–บ๐—…๐–พ, ๐–พ๐—‘๐—๐–บ๐—…๐–พ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐—€ ๐—…๐—‚๐—„๐–พ ๐–บ ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—‹๐—„ ๐–ผ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Ž๐—Œ. ๐– ๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐— ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐–พ๐–บ๐—, ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—‹๐–พ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—Ž๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—‚๐—๐—’, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—‡๐— ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐—‚๐—‹๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—‹, ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—‚๐—†๐—‰๐–บ๐–ผ๐— ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‰๐—‰๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐—€๐—…๐—’ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–ป๐–บ๐–ผ๐—„ ๐–บ๐— ๐—Ž๐—Œ. ๐–ณ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—๐—‡ ๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—€๐—‹๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐—‹, ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐–ฟ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—†๐–บ๐—๐— ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–บ๐–ป๐—‚๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—’ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐—Œ๐—. ๐–ณ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—Ž๐—‹๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–พ๐—’๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—†๐—Ž๐—…๐—๐—‚๐—‰๐—…๐—’ ๐–บ๐—…๐—†๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐— ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—‚๐—…๐—’, ๐–บ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ๐–พ๐—Š๐—Ž๐–พ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—‹๐–พ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—๐—…๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹๐—Œ๐–พ๐—…๐–ฟ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Žโ€™๐—๐–พ ๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ ๐—๐–พ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ. ๐–ณ๐—๐–พ ๐—€๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‹๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—๐—๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—‰๐—‹๐–บ๐—’๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—Ž๐—‰ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—…๐—ˆ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—๐—‡, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—‰๐–พ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—Ž๐—‰ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡.

๐–ฏ๐–พ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—Œ, ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—‰๐—Ž๐— ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐— ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—‚๐—“๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‰๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡, ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—…๐–ฝ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—Ž๐—†๐–ป๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Ž๐—Œ, ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—†๐–บ๐—’๐–ป๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐–บ๐–ฝ ๐—€๐–พ๐—๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—’ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—โ€™๐—Œ ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—…๐–บ๐—’ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—๐—‡ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ, ๐—‰๐–พ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—Œ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐—, ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—ƒ๐—ˆ๐–ป. ๐–  ๐—ƒ๐—ˆ๐–ป ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—ˆ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐–บ๐—‚๐— ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Ž๐—Œ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—’ ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐–ฝ๐–ป๐—’๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—’ ๐—๐–พ๐—…๐—…๐—ˆ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ ๐—‡๐–พ๐—. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐–พ๐—. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—’ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—Ž๐—Œ ๐–บ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—…๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—…๐–พ๐—‹๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐–ป๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—‰๐—’ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐—๐–บ๐—„๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ๐—Œ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–บ๐—… ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—‹๐–พ๐—€๐—‹๐–พ๐—๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—Œ๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—Ž๐—Œ๐—Ž๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—’ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‰๐–พ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—…๐—๐–บ๐—’๐—Œ, ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐—…๐–บ๐—๐–พ. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐—‚๐—‘ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ป๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—„๐–พ๐—‡. ๐–ณ๐—ˆ ๐–บ๐–ป๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–ป ๐—๐—‚๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—‰๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—’. ๐–ฏ๐–พ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—Œ, ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ๐—‚๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐–บ๐—„๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—† ๐—Ž๐—Œ, ๐—‰๐–พ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡, ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—ƒ๐—ˆ๐–ป.

๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐–ผ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—Ž๐–พ๐—…๐—๐—’. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—… ๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—†๐—’ ๐—…๐—‚๐–ฟ๐–พ. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—‰๐–บ๐—Ž๐—Œ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—†๐—’ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐—-๐—‚๐–ฟโ€™๐—Œ. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—†๐—’ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ผ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ๐—‚๐–ฝ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—†๐–พ. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐–ผ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Œ, ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ป๐—Ž๐—…๐—€๐–พ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—†๐—’ ๐—๐—๐—‹๐—ˆ๐–บ๐—, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‰๐—‚๐–พ๐–ผ๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—†๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Žโ€™๐—๐–พ ๐—‹๐—‚๐—‰๐—‰๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—†๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—’๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ, ๐–พ๐—‘๐–ผ๐–พ๐—‰๐— ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐–ผ๐—„๐—…๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—† ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—‡๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—†๐—’ ๐–พ๐—’๐–พ๐—Œ. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—†๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐–บ ๐—‰๐–บ๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—Œ๐—‰๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–บ๐–ฟ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—†๐—’ ๐—‰๐–พ๐–บ๐–ผ๐–พ. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‡๐—‚๐—€๐—๐—๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—†๐—’ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐—๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—„๐–พ๐–พ๐—‰๐—Œ ๐—†๐–พ ๐—Ž๐—‰. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—Ž๐—‹๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—†๐–พ. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‹๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡๐—’ ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—’๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐–ผ๐—„๐—…๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–ป๐—’ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐—…๐—’, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—Ž๐—‡๐—‡๐—’ ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—’๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—‹๐–บ๐–ผ๐–พ ๐–ป๐—’ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐—Œ๐—. ๐–จ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐–ผ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—’, ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—‹๐–บ๐—’๐–บ๐—… ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–ผ๐–พ๐—‚๐—๐–ฟ๐—Ž๐—…๐—‡๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ. ๐–จ. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐–ธ๐—ˆ๐—Ž.

๐–ฏ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—Œ๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—…๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ๐—‚๐–ป๐—…๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—Ž๐—-๐—ˆ๐–ฟ๐–ฟ๐—Œ. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—†๐—’ ๐–ผ๐—’๐—‡๐—‚๐–ผ๐—‚๐—Œ๐—† ๐—๐—ˆ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ป๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—‚๐–พ๐—‡๐–ฝ. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–ป๐—…๐–บ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€๐—Œ ๐–จ ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—‚๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‹๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—Œ๐—…๐—’, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—…๐—‚๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐—‚๐—‹. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–ฟ๐—‚๐—€๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‹๐–พ๐–ป๐–พ๐—…๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—‰๐—‹๐–บ๐—’๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐–ป๐–พ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‚๐—†๐—‰๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐— ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž. ๐–ฅ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐–พ.

๐–ณ๐—‚๐—†๐–พ, ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—‰๐—‚๐—Œ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž.

๐—ช๐—ถ๐˜๐—ต ๐—Ÿ๐—ผ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ, ๐—”๐—น๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ฒ ๐—ฉ๐—Ÿ

CHARLIZE, YOU SPELLED TRIBE WRONG

Dear Charlize,

AFRIKAANS IS A DYING LANGUAGE? YOU SPELLED TRIBE WRONG

44 Afrikaans speaking South Africans, you say? Afrikaans speaking South Africansย arenโ€™tย ignorant, stupid or allowing our language to die. What weย areย is a nation with a great love for our Afrikaans language, still raising our children to speak Afrikaans at home and as their first language at school, and they in turn, raise their children to embrace and carry forward our language, culture, heritage and values.

What is dying, and what isnโ€™t very helpful is a tribe rich in language and culture, murdered in our homes, on our highways, at gas stations, in parks, and just around every corner and turn. What isnโ€™t helpful is that we as a minority are being persecuted, discriminated against, and hated.

The Afrikaans tribe in South Africa could never have predicted the slow progression of our eradication that was implemented right under our noses in the early 90โ€™s titled ANC Circular 213-6. We, you included, were so seduced by Nelson Mandela and his promises of freedom, equality and a rainbow nation that we failed to see the disaster that began threatening our very existence over a period of 28+ years. We were intrigued by the newly released Nelson Mandela who swore that there would be no more fighting and no vengeance by whatever the sins of our forefathers were. There would be no more hatred.

Yet here we are. 2022. The tribe, not the language, is facing extinction. Our tribe is dying. We are persecuted. Murdered. We are excluded from the job market, schools, universities, health care and sports only to name but a few. We are hated. Loathed. Targeted. Blamed. Branded thieves and second-class humans. We are being held responsible for things that are claimed to have happened but have never been proved. We are resented for the implementation of apartheid by the British โ€“ yet, abolished by the Afrikaans tribe. We are threatened and we wait for these threats to be carried out.

We wait. Our weapons meant to defend ourselves, have been taken away from us. We are a nation disarmed. Yet, the very weapons confiscated from us, are used in the murders of not only our farmers, but also in home invasions in our suburbs. We wait. Our homes are infiltrated by attackers seeking to eradicate our very existence. We wait. Our police or military canโ€™t and wonโ€™t protect us. They withdraw from riots and protests; they are afraid of the brutality of the perpetrators which, as with our farm murders and home invasions, includes members of law enforcement. We wait. No other country offers ALL minority citizens of South Africa a safe place. We wait.

Our president is silent, yet โ€“ he excuses the hatred spewed by the majority black South Africans against the minority South Africans. He lies about land grabs, expropriation without compensation, and the murders to the rest of the world. Not once has he spoken out against all the anti-white laws crippling all South Africans. Not once has he condemned the cruel and barbaric aggression towards the minority South Africans. Not once has he condemned the hatred and incitement of murder through so-called struggle songs. Not once has he posed as president of South Africa but rather, as president of the ANC and enforces the ANC law and at the same time, condoning the actions and incitements by the EFF and the BFLF.

Our dying tribe is having our taxes, our mines, our municipalities, our schools, our law enforcement, our military, our hospitals, our minerals and all that was once supreme in this country, stolen by people calling for our slaughter. These are the people killing the old, raping our babies, torturing our women and children while cutting away the eyelids of our men so that they can watch unbearable cruelty unfold before them before ultimately, killing them. These are the people that have infested South Africa while attempting to destroy our language, our heritage, our culture, and all that once made South Africa great.

Our history no longer matters and is stripped from our schools and libraries, where generations from now will never know the true events of our country. The wars we once fought in Afrikaans for the freedom of our people will mean nothing โ€“ as though it never happened. Our lives donโ€™t matter and that of our familiesโ€™, donโ€™t count.

We face daily protests, rapes, murders, torturing and beatings. We are no longer able to provide for our families and so many have found themselves in patched-together squatter camps. Education systems have failed. Health care has failed. Freedom is lost. Food is unaffordable. Citizens are confined to the four walls of their homes. We are hijacked on our highways and roads. Our teachers are assaulted by the youngest of students. The old and fragile are mercilessly assaulted and our babies raped.

All of us affected by the fact that we are being forced out of our country, unable to secure employment by the broad-based black economic empowerment laws, our restrictions in sport, universities, public service, and expropriation without compensation of property, not just farms, want to make it clear that itโ€™s not our language dying, but our tribe.

To date, we are suffering brutal deaths, and our elderly, children, women, and men are mercilessly tortured before killed. We are faced with hate speech where our slaughter is being openly called for, yet our president and government refuses to address any of these issues. We rely on the law to uphold the South African law, instead, the ANC terrorist law prevails.

You spelled tribe wrong.

With love,
No. 44

Her Name Is Grief

I met someone on a day much like today. She wasn’t kind, and she wasn’t someone I wanted to let in. Something about her was off, threatening and heartless, but on the other side of my front door, she kept knocking and calling for me.

I tried to ignore her, hoping she’d give up and leave. I closed my ears and busied my eyes, but her presence was all around me and my home. She made it clear that she wasn’t leaving until I invited her in. She had nowhere else to be and no-one else she’d rather spend some time with.

She’s not the type I would normally let in, or invite into my home. I could feel into the very core of me that she was trouble. I knew, when I first saw her that we wouldn’t get along and I sensed we had nothing much in common. She appeared as though the life was drained from her, and there was something in her eyes that unsettled me, leaving me with an uncomfortable vulnerability. Her voice was high-pitched and her persistence was met with urgency.

I tried to make excuses for net letting her in. I asked her to reschedule. I questioned whether she had the right address because I had never seen her before. I tried to tell her that I was busy, I had errands to run, people to catch up with, phone calls to make, messages to send, a house to clean, a load of laundry and a trip to the stores. She said she wasn’t leaving until I gave her my time.

So, I stepped aside and invited her in. Only, it wasn’t for a few minutes or an hour. Once I let her in, she became comfortable in my space and wouldn’t leave. She shadowed me during the day doing day to day chores. She was there when I took a bath, avoided a phone call, took a nap, and especially at night, her presence was overwhelming and she wouldn’t stop talking, reminiscing and reminding me of my failures. She was so loud at night and when I placed my hands over my ears, her awful voice grew louder and louder in my head. She wouldn’t keep quiet, and wouldn’t let me sleep.

She was in the passenger seat while I was driving, in the store when I was pushing a cart, in the kitchen when I was cooking and in the living room while flipping through channels.

She was overbearing, hurtful and unkind. She wouldn’t let met breathe without her. She took away all the things I valued, cherished and loved to do. After a while, she kept me home, hid my perfume, hair brush and make-up. The laundry piled up, but she didn’t care. The dust moved in when she did, but she didn’t care. She brought me to tears more often than not, and took away my dignity, hope and joy. She stole what was important in my life from me and she made me question everything I thought I knew. She told me over and over again that God had forgotten me, and that she was in control whether or not I liked it. I had invited her in.

She said that I was a failure as a human being, a daughter and a sister. She said there were things that I just should have known, but I couldn’t even do that. She said that I was ugly inside and out, and that my tears were too late. Wisdom came too late for me. A hard heart took too long to soften. It was just too late for me.

She spoke for me. She changed my routine to place me at my most vulnerable. Each day she spent with me, her grip on me grew stronger and stronger.

She just wouldn’t let go and controlled more and more of me until one day, when I thought I was drowning in her shadow, God stepped in, and brought in a little army who overpowered her, and banished her from my home and my life.

They stood watch until I was able to free myself from the misery she cast over me. She left, reluctantly. Humiliated and defeated. She left and I was finally freed from the prison she locked me in for months. I could breathe again. For the first time in months, I didn’t hear her voice when I closed my eyes. I slept. I could sleep. I dusted and did the laundry. I took a walk around outside and took care of the autumn leaves. I messaged friends. I spoke without a restricting lump in my throat.

She left and it all just hits differently now.

I pray for mercy for the next home she gets her claws into. If you let her in, remind her that she is nothing more than a guest in your home. Kick her out when she overstays her welcome and remember, she lies.

Her name is Grief.

With love,
Alice VL

IMPOSTERS

๐–จ๐—โ€™๐—Œ ๐–ป๐–พ๐–พ๐—‡ ๐–บ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—…๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—‚๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—€๐—‹๐–พ๐–พ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—Œ๐—‚๐—€๐—‡๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—†๐—‰๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—€๐—Ž๐—‚๐—Œ๐—. ๐– ๐—‡ ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—Ž๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€๐—…๐—’ ๐—‡๐–พ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—๐—‚๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—๐–พ๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–ป๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—„๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐–บ๐—€๐—‚๐—…๐–พ ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ. ๐–ง๐—ˆ๐— ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐—…๐—‚๐—Œ๐— ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—‰๐–พ๐—‹๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—…๐—‚๐–พ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—’ ๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—๐–พ๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ, ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐–บ ๐—๐–บ๐—…๐—‚๐–ฝ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—๐—‹๐–บ๐–ผ๐— ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—‰๐—…๐–บ๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—‰๐–บ๐—‹๐—๐—‚๐–ผ๐—‚๐—‰๐–บ๐—‡๐— ๐—๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐–บ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐—‚๐—‡๐–บ๐—… ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—’. ๐–จ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—Œ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—†, ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—…๐—‚๐—“๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—’ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—๐–พ๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐— ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—….

๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐—€๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ, ๐–บ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐—‡-๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐–พ๐—Œ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‰๐–พ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐— ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—…๐—‚๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—๐—‹๐–บ๐–ผ๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐—‚๐—€๐—‡๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐–บ๐—…๐—‚๐–ฝ. ๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐— ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–พ๐—†๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐–บ ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐–ฝ ๐–ผ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ฏ๐–พ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—Œ ๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ณ๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—€๐—‹๐–พ๐–พ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—๐–พ๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–ผ๐—‚๐—Œ๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡-๐—†๐–บ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‚๐—†๐—‰๐—ˆ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—‡๐—Ž๐—…๐—… ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‚๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—‰๐—‚๐—‹๐—‚๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—Ž๐—‰ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—Ž๐—‡๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—†๐–พ๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€. ๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ๐—Ž๐—…๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—‹๐–บ๐—‡๐—Œ๐–บ๐–ผ๐—๐—‚๐—ˆ๐—‡.

๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐–ฟ๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—ƒ๐—ˆ๐—’ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐–ฟ๐–พ๐–พ๐—… ๐–ป๐—…๐—‚๐—Œ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ฎ๐—, ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—’๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐—†๐—‚๐—…๐—‚๐–บ๐—‹๐—‚๐—๐—’ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—†๐–บ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—’ ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—, ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐—๐—, ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–บ๐–ป๐—…๐–พ. ๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—…๐—…๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—๐—‡, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—€๐—‹๐—‚๐–พ๐–ฟ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–บ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐–ฟ๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ. ๐–ก๐—Ž๐—, ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—†๐–พ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—‚๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐–ฝ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐—„๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐—ˆ๐— ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—†๐–บ๐—„๐–พ ๐—‡๐–พ๐— ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ๐—Œ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—’, ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—… ๐—๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐–ป๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—Œ๐—Ž๐–ฝ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—‡๐—…๐—’ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—Œ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—†. ๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐–ฟ๐–พ๐—…๐— ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–ผ๐–พ๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ. ๐–ข๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—‡๐–พ๐–ฝ. ๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—’ ๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—‚๐— ๐—‚๐—‹๐—‹๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ๐—‚๐–ป๐—…๐—’ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—’๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–ฝ๐—…๐—’ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—, ๐—Œ๐–ผ๐—‹๐–บ๐—†๐–ป๐—…๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—€๐—‹๐—‚๐–พ๐–ฟ, ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—๐–บ๐–ผ๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—…๐–พ๐–ฟ๐— ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐—. ๐–จ๐— ๐—Œ๐—†๐—Ž๐—€๐—…๐—’ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—‡๐—ˆ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—€๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—†๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—„๐—’ ๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐–บ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—†๐–พ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—๐—Œ ๐—๐–พ ๐—‚๐—Œ. ๐–จ๐— ๐—‹๐–พ๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—’ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–ป๐—’ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ๐—…๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐—…๐—’ ๐—๐–บ๐—…๐—„๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—’๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ.

๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐—…๐—… ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐—„๐—Œ ๐—Ž๐—‰ ๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—†, ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‰๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—† ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ผ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—† ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹, ๐–บ๐–ฝ๐—†๐—‚๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—’ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—…๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐–ฝ๐—’ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐–พ๐–ฝ, ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—…๐—’ ๐–บ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐–ป๐–พ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐–ป๐–พ๐—€๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—’. ๐–ก๐—…๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–ป๐—’ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐–บ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–พ๐—’๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ผ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–บ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—Œ๐—‚๐–ฝ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—€๐—ˆ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—’๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ, ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐—๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐–ผ๐–พ๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐–บ ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—Œ๐—‡๐—Ž๐–ป๐–ป๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‹๐–พ๐–ฟ๐—Ž๐—Œ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—†. ๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐— ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—€๐—Œ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐–ผ๐—, ๐–ป๐—Ž๐— ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐—’๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—‡๐—Œ ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—‚๐— ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‡๐—‡๐—ˆ๐—. ๐–จ๐— ๐–พ๐—‘๐—‰๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—’ ๐–ฝ๐–พ๐—‰๐—๐—๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‰๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–บ๐—‡๐—€๐—Ž๐—‚๐—Œ๐— ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‡๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐–พ๐—‘๐—‰๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ.

๐–ซ๐—‚๐—„๐–พ ๐–บ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—’ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐–บ๐— ๐–บ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹, ๐—Œ๐—๐—Ž๐–ผ๐—„ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐–บ ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–พ๐—† ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–พ๐—‡๐–ฝ, ๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—‡๐–พ๐–บ๐—„๐—Œ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—„๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐—‚๐—† ๐—๐–พ๐—…๐—… ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—…๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‹๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ฟ๐–บ๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—…๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐–ฝ๐—Œ ๐—€๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ฝ๐–บ๐—‹๐—„ ๐–บ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹, ๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—Œ๐—†๐—‚๐—…๐–พ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—Œ๐–บ๐—‰๐—‰๐–พ๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—Ž๐—‡ ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—…๐—’ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‰๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—† ๐–บ๐—€๐–บ๐—‚๐—‡. ๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐—๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–บ๐—‹๐—‹๐–บ๐—‡๐—€๐–พ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—„๐–พ๐–พ๐—‰ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—’ ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€, ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐–บ๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–บ๐–ผ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—‰๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐–บ ๐—‡๐–พ๐— ๐–ฝ๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—†. ๐–ฒ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐—๐— ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—‰๐–บ๐—€๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—…๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐–ฝ๐—’ ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐–ป๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—๐–บ๐—‰๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—…๐–พ๐–ฟ๐— ๐–ป๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—…๐–พ ๐—Œ๐—๐–พ ๐—‚๐—†๐–บ๐—€๐—‚๐—‡๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–บ ๐—‡๐–พ๐— ๐–พ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€. ๐–ก๐—Ž๐— ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—’ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—‡๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐—‹๐—‚๐—๐–พ, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—…๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐—‡๐–พ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐—Œ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—‰๐—…๐–บ๐–ผ๐–พ.

๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–ฝ๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—†๐—Œ ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—…๐—’ ๐–พ๐—‘๐—‚๐—Œ๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐–บ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐–ป๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—‚๐—‡, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‡ ๐—๐–พ ๐—…๐–พ๐–ฟ๐—, ๐—๐–พ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐—„ ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐–พ๐—Œ๐—Œ๐–พ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐—๐—‚๐—†. ๐–ง๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—’ ๐–บ๐—…๐—‹๐–พ๐–บ๐–ฝ๐—’ ๐–ฝ๐—‚๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—‡๐— ๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—… ๐–ป๐–พ๐—€๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ผ๐—‹๐—’.

๐˜ž๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ,
๐˜ˆ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ฆ ๐˜๐˜“

IT WAS LATER THAN I THOUGHT

Time trailing off was somewhere on the other side of an undetermined horizon, unseen and yet to be reached. There were still many steps to take and thousands of miles to go. I thought youโ€™d reach your last stop many moons from now, thinking there was such a vast distance still to travel, and a few turns to take. I never really thought about the steps that were inevitably moving you forward, or how quickly the miles added up behind you as you kept on walking, and as you stood still. Even though you didnโ€™t move as swiftly somedays, and no matter how much you would slow down on other days, you were still moving forward. Time was still happening. You couldnโ€™t fight it or defeat it, cheat it, or deny it. It didnโ€™t speed up or slow down. You couldn’t conquer it, ignore it, or deny it. I wasnโ€™t counting the miles behind you or estimating the distance ahead of you. I wasnโ€™t keeping a schedule, it wasnโ€™t necessary. There was time. There was supposed to be more minutes, hours, and days. We still had years to count down, plans were made and trips to take. I didnโ€™t know that it was later than I thought.

I watched you growing tired, but I didnโ€™t want to see it. I heard you try and tell me, but I didnโ€™t want to hear it. Others were telling me that you werenโ€™t the same as I remembered, but my mind wouldnโ€™t let me consider it. Maybe so, I thought, but you had time. I saw the sparkle in your eyes grow hazier each time I looked into them. Your smile wasnโ€™t as broad as before, and your voice became quieter. I attributed your silence to the fact that you were listening rather than wanting to be heard. Your eyes smiled more but you laughed less. I couldnโ€™t make sense of it, so I ignored it. There was time. I tried to identify the change in your tone, and your need for less. You gazed intensely into my eyes, as though you wanted to say something crucial, but didnโ€™t know how to. I didnโ€™t ask. I didnโ€™t want to hear it. You kept our last call longer and your messages came more frequently. You seemed to have so much more time, and we had so many plans, but I didnโ€™t know that it was later than I thought.

When you reached that unchartered horizon, I felt cheated. Conned. Tricked. Time exposed itself as cruel and heartless. A liar. It had deceived me and offered me no warning. You had more time. There was supposed to be more. I wasnโ€™t keeping track of your calendar, but even if I did, it still didnโ€™t fit in to the schedule my heart had drawn up. It just couldnโ€™t be right. I went back and forth, stopped, and started again. Over and over, I tried to count the steps you took. It suddenly felt as though they were far too big and far too quick. Time didnโ€™t add up and when I tried to match it with the steps you took, I was appalled to discover that it was so much later than I thought.

Perhaps, time held me hostage, or I took the enemy and tried to cage it. Was it because I still had so much to do with you that I kept us frozen in time? I didnโ€™t see the horizon approaching, and when the sky turned dark, I looked back and noticed how the light had started dimming behind you long before. I thought that perhaps you found another route, a short-cut to the border between here and there, because it was just too short, or you had walked way too fast. I couldnโ€™t keep up. I couldnโ€™t see the horizon approaching. I couldnโ€™t calculate the steps you still needed to take, or the time you would still have, but I do know now that it was later than I thought.

Retracing your steps, I want to shout out to you to stop. โ€œStop walking so fast!โ€ Stop allowing time to push you forward. Stop. Just stop. But when I look back, I can see for the first time how often you stumbled. How torn you were between passing through the passage of time, or letting it pass you by. You have known for a while that your calendar was almost full and right on schedule. Time was perfectly set according to your timeline here, and the beginning of your timeline over there. I donโ€™t want to change it. I donโ€™t want to set myself up for a bitter warfare with time, because I canโ€™t win. Because, as hard as I would fight, plead, and beg, time wants to happen. Time will happen. It doesnโ€™t adapt to broken hearts or bucket lists. It doesnโ€™t show mercy. As messy as time is; as unfair as it seems, and as ugly as it can be, I donโ€™t want to fix it. Time has always been on Godโ€™s schedule, the Master of all calendars and timelines. Time canโ€™t be fixed because it isnโ€™t broken. Time takes Godโ€™s diary and carries out itineraries drawn up by Him. Its service is to God alone. Not for my broken heart or tears. Not for my silence or anger.

So, instead of trying to wrestle and negotiate with time, I am doing my best to try and catch up to it. Perhaps, if I can persuade my heart to match His schedule, I wouldnโ€™t walk around in disbelief, angry at time, or miss you so much. If I could be perfectly aligned with time, then maybe I wonโ€™t hear you call my name in the wind, or stare motionlessly at your photograph, before running my fingers across your forehead, and lightly touching your cheek. Perhaps then I could smile at the eyes staring back at me instead of hunting for answers in them. I keep looking out for that cheeky wink and tight-lipped smile that says, โ€œIโ€™ve got this,โ€ but the truth is, you did have this even when I couldnโ€™t see. Maybe, I would stop reading and re-reading your messages, hoping to find a clue or identify a tone that would give me just an ounce of closure. Perhaps when my questions are answered, I might even be able to stop the tears from reaching my eyes and landing on my cheeks. Maybe then the hole inside of me that wasnโ€™t there before wouldnโ€™t feel so enormous and sore. I might even be able to start breathing normally again, instead of holding my breath because it manifests in an intense, physical hurt. I want to expel the anguish by holding my breath forever, but it happens instinctively. Unconsciously. Spontaneously. It doesnโ€™t let me just stop. Time hasnโ€™t yet received my itinerary. I donโ€™t want my calendar filled just yet, I just want the messiness and agony of grief to lessen. If I could just get myself perfectly set with time, I know that I can once again find the light I keep reaching for.

I donโ€™t ever want it to be later than I thought again.

DID THE UNIVERSE ASK YOU TO LOVE MORE THAN ONE?

You promise him that it is him you want and that itโ€™s him you want to be with. You pledge your love and devotion to him, because you do love him, and you are devoted to only him. You love him wildly. You love him faithfully. You love him so incredibly passionately. Your heart can compare him to no other, and you dream of your tomorrows with him. You have every intention of being faithfully dedicated to him, to just one. In the end, we all can only love one. We are made to only love one.

There is only one lid per pot. We were never made to love more than one, the same. We were never made to love more than one at the same time, were we? And at first, it is only him. You bind and pledge your truest of love and allegiance to only one. All that came before him, no longer matters. A love that you once cherished and held onto so feverishly before your new him showed up, is at once, abandoned and disregarded. It must be forgotten. You tell yourself that it was never love, and that you just need time to adjust to your new him.

You are keen to distract yourself from your other him, the one you once knew so well. Someone you might have clung to because of familiarity or shelter, but not love. It could never have been love because you love your new him, you know you do. You are convinced that the lingering emotions for your other him will eventually dwindle. You are sure it will. It must. We were not made to love more than one. But the time youโ€™ve allowed for yourself to adjust, changes nothing. You still and do love him, the new him you undertook to love forever.

But then, one night and without warning, you pretend to be asleep because you were unexpectedly reminded of your other himโ€™s scent earlier on. No matter how hard you tried to ignore the memory of him, no matter how desperate you were to disregard the rush of emotions that had abruptly found its way back into your heart, you just canโ€™t shake it off. Your new him canโ€™t know. You question why the sentience of your other himโ€™s odor so absolutely unnerves you.

You lay reminiscing about how he once touched you and how he felt against you. You rebuke yourself for thinking of your other him again. You begin to whisper silent โ€œI miss youโ€™sโ€ to your other him when no-one else can hear, and you hate yourself for doing so. You punish yourself for being suddenly perplexed by what it all means, and where it would all end? You try to think back to when it all began, and why you failed to see it creeping up on you? You wonder how long he has truly been on your mind for, and how long the memory of him will still last? You donโ€™t love him; it has to be so. You love another, it has to be so. You make no sense of anything as you urgently aim to decrypt your untaught emotions. You try and find a trigger. Why is he on your mind when your new him is so staunchly set in your heart?

Why does the memory of your other himโ€™s voice make way for the broadest smile on your face? You want your other him to stop launching, what you deem to be, a brutal attack on your heart and on your mind. You choose your new him. Your soul mate, he has to be. Why is your other him living in your mind? Why is your heart searching for him again? Why does the memory of him suddenly hurt so much? Is it your heart that made the very first move? What about your new him? Why are you still so captivated by your other him that you continue to seek him out, but at the same time, you canโ€™t let go of your new him?

Why do you set aside time to find your other him in your mind, and linger there with him? Is your soul pursuing him? As you dawdle with your other him in your mind, you discover in horror that your body too, still craves his. You play your โ€œcould-have-beenโ€™sโ€ out like a movie in your mind, and you can barely breathe as your heart begins to race fiercely. While you lay there, pretending to sleep, you see your other himโ€™s eyes staring back at you.

You turn over to your new him who lays staring out into the dark, leaving you to pretend to be asleep. You say that you just want to look into his eyes. You are desperate to hear your heart whisper that he is the one. Your heart does not let you down, it tells you that it loves him, and it canโ€™t lose him. You ask your new love not to move, not to say a word, and not to ask you about it. You whisper how you love him, but your soul reminds you of your other him, at the very same time.

You lay watching him as he falls asleep. You realize that you should have known that it was coming to this. You were blind, you never wanted to see. There are traces of them both in your eyes and in your heart. You know that you love them equally, just differently. You choose one to love in full view of the world, while you can only love the other in your mind. Equally, just differently. He might find the proof of your shredded love in your eyes, but there are no lies in your love for your new him.

You donโ€™t love your other him like that, you canโ€™t. You know that you love your new him, but the universe has asked you to love more than one. It has asked you to choose one, and long for the other, for the remainder of your life. It has demanded a choice and when you finally choose, it unforgivingly begins to toss memories of the other him at you. It heartlessly begins two different stories in your heart, and it watches you play out the love you have for them both. It has cruelly allowed you to be torn between two hearts, two souls and two himโ€™s. It reminds you of the one when you are with the other. It lets you long for the other when youโ€™re with the one.

It let you choose, and it left you feeling as though you were never equipped to make that choice. You should never have had to choose. You should never have been damned into an eternity of loving two, equally but differently. You canโ€™t choose. You never could.

You love them both. You need them, both. Your heart wonโ€™t let you choose now, when itโ€™s already too late. When you have already chosen. When you probably would have chosen exactly the same, again. The universe has allowed another to stroll thoughtlessly into your heart, and blind you for a while. Only for a while. Only for a bit. For only a moment, it let you believe that you love only one. It let you breathe before it hurled your other him back at you, and asked you to love them both, equally. Yet differently. It has asked you to love them both all at the same time, when the world allows you to love only one.

CAN YOU PAINT ME A LOVE STORY?

On the corner of a busy and bustling city street, she saw him behind his easel as people hurriedly passed him by, almost as though he was fiercely guarded from the world around him. He smiled slightly as he clutched a paint brush in his hand and whistled a love song that could not be drowned out by the lively noises of the streets. With each brush stroke, he brought to life the waves of an ocean that were crashing harshly on the sands of a beach.

She stood silently as she watched him paint the seas that reflected the rising sun of the morning sky. She gazed longingly at the life he was creating by the mere strokes of his brush, and through the gentle whistles of his love songs. With a trouncing heart, she walked up to him, and through the shudders of her own voice, she asked him if he only painted scenes of the oceans and the skies? He lowered his brush and grinned, before he told her that for a few bucks, he would paint her anything she wanted.

She fell to her knees and grabbed his warm, brilliant hands. She stared at them, confident and hopeful that they would create a painting for her too. She asked him if he could paint her a love story? Without pausing to take a breath, she went on to describe how it should look, just like she had planned when she was only a little girl. She told him of a little blue house, a slight way out of town. She asked him to paint a porch with a swing, so that she could watch over her horses and gaze out onto her flower fields.

She begged him to paint her on that swing in a white cotton dress and make it the very first day of spring. She squeezed his hands tighter, and asked him again, to paint her a love story. He glowered when he noticed the despair in her persuasive eyes. He hurriedly seized a blank canvas and picked up his paint brush. He asked her where she would like him to place her love in the painting, and when she began to whimper softly, he knew he would have to be placed right beside her, where she needed him to be. She asked him if he could perhaps peek into her heart and see how it longs for the way it was before. Before, when her story was a painting that she had once owned. And then, she implored him to place her loveโ€™s arms back around her, just like it once was.

She told him how the bright sunrises contradict the dense mist that weighs down so heavily on her. She said that she needed him to paint the joyful sounds of the birds in the mornings, so that her heart could hear them once more. She gently whispered how she wondered why the world continued to turn, and that without her new painting, she was just not sure she could begin again. She asked him to add fireflies to brighten her darkest nights, and she told him to place the stars like a silvery gown around her. She said that she wanted to hang it above her big, empty bed where she feared the dark and dreaded the dawn, all at the same time.

She softly confessed that she reaches for her love in vain, and that she tearfully whispers his name, just as she is about to fall asleep. She reminded the artist not to forget to paint daffodils, so that she can smile instead of cry. She told him to take his time because at that very moment, her heart does not yet have a home, and that it is just a painting, until it becomes her love story.

TO GO BACK TO BEFORE

Among thousands on that city street, she looked past the crowd and saw him standing there. She could barely move when she noticed the abrupt recognition in his face. Her world stood entirely still for just a moment as she anxiously fought to take in a breath of fresh air. With nowhere to hide, her togetherness fell apart and her transparency faded away as he came closer to her.

He was scurrying to catch her, and when he finally reached and embraced her, her heart instantly shuddered and reminded her of their once. Something she had carelessly forgotten, and thought was once lost, had found her again. The tempest inside of her was raging when she remembered how perfectly flawless she felt in his arms. He recklessly evoked the scent of her skin as every memory of a promise they once lived, came flooding back to him. Almost like a song he was once besotted with, but hadnโ€™t heard in far too many years, and how the lyrics remained imprinted in his soul as he memorized each word.

Instinctively, she wanted to grab his hands and beg him to go away with her. To run away. To go too far. Just for one night. To go back to before. Before she was someone elseโ€™s wife, and before he was anotherโ€™s man. To before they knew too much and felt too little. To when they could still effortlessly function on love and desire alone. She wanted one more night to evoke the she, she once was. The she, she was with him.

Far away to a time when they were a them. To let go of their now and forget how they grew up and lost their magic. To before their lights were so cruelly turned down. To a time when no-one else mattered, and not much else was real. To when their bodies spoke so much louder and so much clearer than their voices did. She wanted to go so far back to when their hearts dissolved into their souls, just like they once did. Before life stole their passionate flames. She wanted to sit with him and hold his hand tightly into hers. She wanted to drown in the puddles of his eyes.

She wanted to splash around on the shore with him and gaze up at the stars as they counted almost everyone. She wanted to dream the same dream as he once did, before life stepped in and flung them into separate and untaught terrains. She wanted to go back just for one night and forget that she became someone elseโ€™s love. She wanted to forget that she had pledged her heart to another. For one night, she wanted to be free to unreservedly, love him again. She wanted to whisper how her heart still sought him out, and how her body still craved his. She wanted to step back into, and shamelessly linger in a moment she once thought she would never lose.

Instead, they talked and chuckled about old times and just about all they once went through. They spoke like old friends but fell silent and remained hushed about their old love. As though it no longer mattered. As though, it never mattered. As though it never happened. As though, the stars had stolen the memories of a love that once so distractedly captivated and obsessively consumed her.

He hugged her while she desperately held onto him. But, as she was about to beg him for just one more night, she knew that she had to forget him for a while longer. Perhaps forever. She gave him her very best smile as she died just a little inside. By the way he so profusely fought against an uninvited lump in his throat as he unashamedly lied about how wonderful his life had been since, just reminded her of how far they had come without the other.

He held her close enough to whisper how dreadfully he had missed her, but that he was in a hurry to go back to his life without her. He had to leave. When he walked away from her, he was only moments away from asking her to run away. To go too far. Just for one night. To go back to before. Before he was someone elseโ€™s man, and before she was anotherโ€™s wife. To before they knew too much and felt too little.

SHE SO WISHES IT DIDN’T

The world still turns. The seasons still come, and the seasons still go. Autumn changes the color of the leaves, and with winter comes the cold and the snow. In spring, the world cheers at the sight of blossoming flowers and new beginnings. And then in summer, laughter fills and lingers in the air. The world still turns.

The roads are still filled with the sounds of cars making their way down the streets, and the voices of people on city pavements still echo in the distance. Children are still born each day. Lovers fall in love, and lovers fall out of love, every single day. Death comes for those whose time is up, and the world still turns.ย 

Mornings still come with each new sunrise, while the darkness covers the universe with each sunset. The world awakes, the world goes to sleep. Plans for a new home, a summer holiday, a wintery escape or a
reunion with loved ones are still made. Thanksgiving plans still go ahead, and Christmas is still the happiest time of the year. When the dawn of the new year breaks, she watches how those around her catch their second breath as they joyfully embark on brand-new journeys, changes and brand-new dreams. The world still turns.ย 

But hers doesnโ€™t. Her world stood still a long time ago, and it no longer turns. She no longer sees the seasons come and go. To her crushed heart, she is stuck in a long, cold winter. Her days may be shorter, but her nights are the longest. Itโ€™s when she can barely breathe. Itโ€™s when she hears her name being called out over and over again. Itโ€™s when she sits up at night, and glares at her hand. She can still feel his in hers. Nothing has changed in the days, weeks, months and years since his leaving. Her world stood still. It has kept her trapped in a kind of a limbo she canโ€™t get out of. One, she just canโ€™t escape from. Everything around her changes, yet nothing is different. Her world stood still. Her life has been shaken, and her heart is shattered. But, for the rest, there is not even a slight indication from the universe that something has changed, something so important to someone so much lesser, has been lost.ย 

There is nothing to tell her that his leaving has somehow impacted the world, shoved it off-course or shook it slightly off its track. Like it did her. Like it shoved her to the ground and kept her there, some days overwhelmed by an excruciating heartache that becomes physical. It cripples her. It debilitates her. There is nothing to tell her that he was crucial to this world, to this life and to her heart.ย 

Yet, while the world forgets him, she searches for him at the break of each day, and at the last light of each night. She hunts him between the walls of the home he once lived in. She traces the footprints of a life he once existed so profoundly in. She follows the trails he once took on the city streets, and she continues all the way down to the dirt roads he once found solace in. She retraces the paths he took to the beach, and she follows his tracks to the forest. She searches for him.ย 

She keeps looking for him. She still hunts him in her world. She tries to find him in crowds on busy and bustling streets. She sits on empty beaches, waiting for him to come up from behind her, and tell her that she was stuck in nothing more than a nightmare. She watches each footprint, listens for each voice, and gazes into many eyes. She hunts for proof that he was once real. She clings to photographs, and she holds on to the memory of him. She does not want the world to forget. She doesnโ€™t want to forget.ย 

And still, the world turns without him. The laughter in the distance hasnโ€™t changed. Love songs drowning out the sounds of busy streets, hasnโ€™t changed. Lovers meeting and dancing at night, hasnโ€™t changed. Strangers brushing past her without noticing her pain, hasnโ€™t changed. Her tears are still hidden behind a convincing smile. She still hears his voice even though he has been quiet for years. She still follows his scent, even though it never is him. She still hears him whisper her name when the wind blows on dark and cloudy nights. She still sees his shadow when she feels him close to her. Nothing has changed, and it reminds her that the world still turns.

She so wishes it didnโ€™t.

ONE PROMISE TOO LATE

She came home today. She couldnโ€™t quite figure out how many sunrises she had missed, or how many sunsets there were since she had been gone. She came home today, just as she promised she would come back to when she was still a bright-eyed teenager with a million dreams, and a gazillion smiles in her heart. She came back to the village she left her soul in, just like she swore she would come back for someday. Just as soon as she had found herย wonderful.

She came home today, to the village that had kept her heart safely tucked away in its palms since she left, almost a thousand moons ago. The village that had patiently watched her dream, carefully guided her on all the roads she walked on and led her to all the roads she would end up taking someday. The village that had finally raised her. She came home today to the houses she knew so well, the trees she had found shade in on so many scorching days, the school she had found family in, the people she adored and the children who had now all grown up.

She came home to a religion her village had passed on to her, from the very moment she was born. She was too young to understand, and not old enough to know that it would someday be the village, she would leaveย everything behind for, only, it would be one promise too late. She came home to the mountains that echoed the laughter that used to hang in the air as they climbed to the top, where they would sit together and watch the sun set over their village. It was almost as though a curtain to a stage was being drawn, and they โ€ฆ the audience.

She came home to the waves that continued to whisper their names as they crashed heartlessly onto the shore. It was almost as though to remind her that her soul had remained behind, yet, it continued to linger somewhere in between the stars and the ocean. She came home to the streets that would still lead her to the place where her heart found a home all those moons ago. She came home to the trees that once blew endless messages of love into her ear, as she walked through the lanes. It was not that long ago that she left her village, and her love behind. It was not that long ago that she swore to him she would return, just as soon as she found her magnificent. She said that she would bring all her wonderful with her, and she promised to share it with him someday. She vowed that she would never forget him, or the village that her roots were firmly planted in.

She asked him to wait for her, and she begged him to believe in her, and her promise. She thought that the city streets would be paved in gold and that the morning sun would be so bright. She thought that the city stars at night would perhaps, blind her. She thought that the nights would be shorter, and that her days would be warmer. She thought that she could get lost in the crowds of a thousand strangers on the city streets, as she quietly and inconspicuously, searches for her beautiful. She thought that she could become fabulous and be amazing before she goes home again to the village that was keeping her roots watered. She thought that she could grow up and win her worth in the world before she came home to her forever.

But how was she to know that her value was never found in her search for wonderful? How was she to know that herย splendorย would not mean much at all, and that herย hunt would all be forย nothing? That it would end up being one promise too late? How was she to know that her glory was inside of her, all along? How could she ever have known that when she finally came home, she would come home to a hollowness she never thought she would feel in the village that once filled her with butterflies and bubbles?

She came home today, just like she promised sheย would. She found herย wonderful, and she became extraordinary for him. She found all she had ever searched for, and all she thought she would ever need, but she came home โ€ฆ one promise too late.

Coming home one promise too late, was never in her plans or her dreams.ย She never thought that he could leave. She never thought that her village would grow up and change just as they did. She never thought that the faces she once knew so well, would be gone from the only home they had ever known. She never thought that she would be welcomed by a whole lot of nothingness when she came home again.

She never thought that their village would become a total stranger to her, with strange new people and strange new buildings. She never thought that the trees that were once a part of their religion, would be cold-heartedly cut down, and that their mountain would be covered by brand-new houses.ย She never thought that he would leave. She never thought she would beย one promise too late.

As she drove through the streets of the village that was still holding firmly onto her heart and her roots, she realized that she never needed to go in search of any kind of remarkable. She was already extraordinary for him. She never needed to hunt any kind of fabulous, he had already spotted that in her. Just like him, she came from the village with its own fairy tales and enchantments, and that was all the wonderful they ever needed.

She came home today, to discover that he had found his own kind of exquisite. His very own fairytale, and his very precious wonderful. He had been talking to his angel about new sunrises and brand-new sunsets. They had spoken about a place where he could see the sun come up again, and where the streets were paved in gold, and lined with flowery blossoms. He had found his delight in the echoing of the moon, in the whispers of the stars, and in the drops of the rain. He had spoken to his angel about finding a place where his soul could rest for a while, and where his heart could love forever.

He asked about taking one final breath over here, and he whispered about taking another first one,ย over there. There, where his eyes can once again, see through the foggy mists that were blinding him over here. There, where his heart could be unbroken, and where he no longer had to wait for her to come home.

He asked his angel to close his eyes, but not to let hers cry. He told his angel that she always had to run, but that he just never really knew why? He said that sometimes, he could feel her fall entirely apart under their stormy skies, but that he just knew, she wouldnโ€™t be home soon. He told his angel that he could feel there had to be something more out there for him, and that he could sometimes, feel the rumbling underneath his feet. He told his angel that he was tired and could no longer fight.

He said that heโ€™d hate for her to see him so broken and defeated, and that they both knew it would be one battle he would lose. He asked his angel if it could perhaps be his turn to find his very own wonderful, away from their village and away from their world? His angel said that it was alright, she would anyway be home,ย one promise too late.

ย