The curse is love

Everywhere is fog. Surrounded me with the same fury with which I hung up. Since I could now echo choirs whole vulgar words, but I can only sigh. I carefully collect the coat that feels loneliness limit on the border between the world and himself. The park seems deserted street is frozen at night and I, I sit on a bench at random. I never thought that people tell lies with a smile and hands in pocket. I was like, with eyes looking to Dâmboviţa behind the building is mammoth communist heavy fog and blur. From somewhere above, croncăneşte a crow in search of corpses. I think I'm her next target. Scarf strangling me, I give below the vocal cords and feel cold wrapped in ice armor. If everything collapses, the world feels castrated life enclosed buildings. I began to suffer from anything, are more sensitive to light and tend to spend our lives spread in the November. In particular I. Or maybe not. On the bench beside me, a beggar howling in despair, "and yet there is love / and yet there is a curse." People pass by him, look with pity and go on. No word, as if all would agree with human folly that tells the truth.

       The ears, his words have stuck my eardrum. Ringing in my mind, changing my thoughts as easily as she wasted my sadness. Across the street, an old woman selling flowers. His hands are frostbitten, but she still sits on a broken chair leg and silent. Do not say anything, the flowers and crying. People and people. I do not think I blinked for 5 minutes, my eyes were cold and wet to dry. The pockets are trinkets, paper written and disconnected, coins and whatnot student. And a pen. Ah, I have book with me, I try to concatenate the world that it closed in fog. I glance at my watch, it's time to go, tomorrow I will beat the record for days lived. Or days when we survived. Experienced too much said, sounds like forcing a discordant note in the music of Verdi. It's not winter yet, my hands tremble and loneliness of people still do not stop to listen to my steam plucked miss.

      I get up strange, leaning out of the bank entered me rude letters: "I + You = Curse". Beings began to see these relations as a place where it removes excess feelings of frustration banal images seen nightly at the same heartbreaking dream, when one throws in each other's arms and morbid love crazy.
Since I can yell trumpets, drums are groaning, laughing devil can bang sound. I can not say anything but: "and yet there is love / and yet there is a curse." Eventually, and this was right Paunescu. Go whistling, go back to my curse live every night messaging, phone and that's all. Maybe tomorrow it will be clear. Maybe not. But I hope.