Hi!
I made myself a strong cup of warcoffee. Yesyes, I’m not wrong, a strong cup.
I walked today to the city center. I saw people busy with their lives. Kyiv is so brave and green now. So much spring in it.
I saw a woman in a heavy brown coat. This coat was too hot for spring. Or not. The woman seemed to be ok with it.
The years kissed her cheeks, hands, legs, and hair. The woman in a heavy brown coat was going home, for a walk, for groceries, or maybe looking for her gorgeous past.
I saw a man (tired and thin) with a child in a wheelchair. I didn’t take a photo of them as they were too broken and heavy. This man… probably, grandfather, was pushing the wheelchair with love and sorrow. It’s not the first time I see The Man and His Grandchild. Sometimes (often), I wish I was an artist. I would have drawn them for you.
I saw a silver woman with a stick. She asked me kindly:
- Could you please help me to cross the road?
- Of course
- But please be slow
- I will
And I was. She smiled and told me some good things.
But why? Why should these people in their golden age live in the war? It’s not easy for them to live in peaceful times but war….
- Damn war (sorry), their hair couldn’t be more silver than it is already. Please leave them. In peace. In smiles.
The war always has the same answer for me:
- I cannot.
Probably for some months (I really don’t know for how long), I had talks with the war in my war book diary. Short dialogues. Later I decided to stop talking with it and started dialogues with the person from the future. I cannot make the war leave. But I can try to persuade someone after me that they should do everything they can to prevent wars. Maybe smile more, maybe love more, maybe help more…
OMG. Cannot you hear the beating of my heart? When I write, it’s always like I put my heart on the pages. One-two-three… the words are vibrating.
I could be a great artist if I could draw. So I only write.
Spring hugs,
Yara (or Yaroslava)