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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 07 | volume II | February-March, 1999



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 07February-March, 1999


p. 1
Petar Volnarovski

    The years long gone; the years with her, and the years without her, are exulting now. Recalling is a sweet pain I inflict to myself with some weird lust, a pain which always succeeds to freeze my thoughts; to the level – I can function by act only. Everything else in my mind – are glances only; glances of something before in there… God knows is it of any importance, or will it ever be important – why things repeat themselves – always. Now, I’m Then again, and yet I’m not. And she’s Then again, and yet she’s not. Only the Time – is Now.

* * *

    With lips dried by lust, I travel among her body. Somewhere behind my eyes, the echo of her body’s relief resounds; all those – once well known – lines are reviving, engraving themselves afresh in my Mind at the same spots they were once before… They’re renewing, retrieving, like a statue covered a long time ago with a cover made of the living dust thrown on it by the passing time – that long time, so long, so long; to much, so much to long…
    My eyes are drinking her so thirsty. My nose is swallowing the scent which is recall, and resumption.
    The cycle is closing. Right here. In this moment, she is Yesterday, and Today.
    Tomorrow never occurred in my mind.
    “You know, I’ve almost forget how you’re body looks like.” – my voice sounds so sore – “But, the one within remembers…” – I wanted to close my eyes. But, my eye-drops refuse to move, they seem like marble.
    And her eyes are closed.
    She won’t open them. Like she’s afraid of showing them to me. She just moaned; and, squirming herself towards me, grabbed my head pulling it towards her breasts.
    I did object that.
    No. I just thought of doing that.
    And in my mind, I kept looking for the memory of that behind her eye-drops…
    … In my mind, I beg her to stop. To unchain the rings of her body’s lust she shrouded me with, and to show me the blue depths I want to dive into…
    … To sink in them. To breathe of their tranquility in there.
    And to lacerate. To burn it down. To outspread the ashes, and dance on the grave of all what rejoiced me once before, so I could be happy again.
    Is there another way to recall the happiness?
    But she doesn’t relent. She’s pushing

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