So nice it would be if we could somehow keep the warmth in the houses – for winter.
Just extract the unnecessary warmth and keep it some container for when it gets cold.
Whoever invents the way to do it, deserves a Nobel prize. And most probably someone has already conceived it before me.
Alas! Conception is always simpler than giving birth.
Anyway, it is getting warmer in Vilnius day by day, and with the days in the North growing hyperproportionally longer, it hurts to be at home in the evening.
If it werent!t for those children playing below.
They are always the same, in all countries.
And the ladies speaking to dogs phrases usch as «Taves keturi laukim». (So proud to already understand Lithuanian better than a dog. Well, at least presumably.)
They are let play until deep in the evening. And then taken back to the panel. But until then, they are free. And the lucky ones among them learn one more language from other kids.
The even luckier live in own houses down the street across. They don’t even guess how lucky they are, how invariably precious their situation is. Until it ends – if it ends, that is. For afterwards it will get even more precious.
Yes, I know how it feels to live in a house…without a fence…when there are large, machine-made buildings belonging to a series up there…so close. To be unique among the endless line of copies.
The black sheep that sparkles and burns the eyes of the masses.
Sometimes you are forced to take it – and it’s better you take it because you never know when you have to leave it.
When you’ve taken it it will never be the same, so better take it before it changes. Afterwards you won’t be able to anyway. You have to leave it.
This is the feeling when there is someone that you could easily fall in love with but know would only cause you pain with their very being beyond reach. Should you fool yourself? Laugh until you cry? Should you let yourself love them until the excruciating hunger turns you deaf to the calls of the heart – the way they don’t hear it beating when they pass by – or should you just transform this sexual unconformity into blissful platony?
Poetry has been a mighty tool in our hands for centuries, myriads of years. Especially for men. It is always better to take the pen in your hand. You leave something bearing more sense, although not necessarily the essence of life behind you: you conserve the pain, as in a crystal, and anyone who dares look into it can get a facet of itself in it. Like a secret place, one only know it is there, albeit everyone sees it, the same crystal.
That’s me and Vilnius. A love that could kill me but I am set on making rebearing me, a city I am bound to change at least a tiny bit.
Unfortunately, unlike Latvian, city is not feminine in Lithuanian. Otherwise I could just wish to be a hidden tear in the corner of her eye.
When I leave you, you won’t feel it…but I will be your missing feelings.
Sometimes it is good to feel giving unleashes the power of being stronger than your own self – by extracting it from what you are. Two separate entities. And when they are reunited, they are not the same.
Me without Vilnius and the beggars that I give – already slightly intentionally – in the pursuit of dropping money into the coffee machine I imagine the Holy Ghost being in such cases – helps me in my fight with the grudge I feel against someone who does not merit it.
No, this one should have another meaning. Hating is easier than loving. Love is creation, and it is – like every other creation – something unique, a chance to take.
And if you don’t have a love of your own, you can create one, and let it create you.