that's ok

It was an ordinary state of mind, one of the days full of deep understanding of conjugations, there's me, considering people as gentle parts on the tips of my fingers, rain blows on an Eastern European lemon tree, there's me, realising that home is somewhere in-between passport, grandma, old books and slightly preserved past and simple flat and known future. So one of the usual devils stood by my left side agitated, shifting from liquid to precious object and so on. He mumbled something about my soul, I said mah, I don't give a shit, and in the moment too short to be perceived by reluctant human emotion, he realised, by position of my arms and comprehension in my eyes which were reflecting ancient dealing with pain (that is not even an effort any more) that I'll never give it away. You are not stronger that this, he said and moved the curtain showing congestion on the street. Ou, you dirty dogs with beautiful flowers between eyes. Yelling kept people moving. No dear, I replied , but I'm stronger than This, I suddenly screamed through crazy laugh (of which I was fully aware) and rose my stiff arms towards the sky that once was infinity and now just a piece of my story that will be written in tears like every other, and nothing more.