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Swayed by two, three glasses of some cheap wine, I wandered the streets known and unknown, wet to the skin. The rain always followed me faithfully and whenever I "got wet" in life, I would get wet in the rain. I cried along with the rain that honorably honored me, smearing the creon and mascara from yesterday. I don’t know if I was more overwhelmed by cars or a sense of guilt that flooded every part of my body. A thousand roads burst forth in front of me, streets and alleys leading to some large gates that hid happy or unhappy homes. I'm in no hurry. I drag my feet along the puddles, feeling my boots squeak and leak water. At one point I was overwhelmed by brief happiness, taking me back to my childhood when trampling muddy puddles was fun for me. Happiness lasts for a short time and quickly brings me back to the harsh reality of the sirens of some conscientious driver who startle me. I walked down the road not knowing how I got there. Repentant, wet, crying, on the edge ... I entered the first bar in my path. A dark and stuffy hole. Sinners at the bar drown pain and misfortune with strong drinks, yet they are seldom drunk for pleasure. Smoke billows in all directions. Water was trickling down me and I never seemed to come out of the puddle. I sat down at a table by a dirty and darkened window. I shivered and gritted my teeth, feeling the winter in my bones. In the corner, in the dim light of a wall lamp, a piano ... and a pianist ... an artist ... or a failed talent, whatever. In a tattered suit, but with gleaming white gloves, he played and sang in rapture, as only artists can be:
"She was so beautiful, I always remember her ..." I ordered a drink, fiercely. Something that would shake me, pick me up and throw me to the ground. I can't stand alcohol, but this suited me. It warmed me up and I felt blood running through my veins. And I decided to stop for that one drink, but the waiter hurried to my table, carrying another one: "Gentlemen from the corner are sending you a drink." "Thanks, but I really ..." "He insisted, I think he'll even join you, so ... yes, here he comes ..." "Excuse me, why is such a beautiful lady sitting alone?" (“Ugh, disgusting, predictable, blink, expected, steady ...) I hummed to myself. "I'm just ..." "I know ... She foresaw this established and disgusting sentence that men regularly recite, thinking that they have reached the peak of intrusion, sorry, courtship. Forgive me, I really don't have the habit of "rolling around" like this and you're the first girl I send a drink to, but I had to tell you that, dear girl, you're smeared with some blackness all over your face. Here, I also have a handkerchief, please ... ”
We talked about my waterproof mascara, the rain that followed me, the effect of alcohol on my consciousness, my leaking boots, and finally about why I wandered into this bar. "You know, I'm running away ... I ran away ... from him ... I have a feeling I'll never come back to him again. I know he loves me, but I ... I'm too scared, that fear is stronger than me, I can't beat him. He's good, honest, nice, nice, sweet ... but ... "Well, what did you actually run away from?" "From torment ... from him ... from himself ... Everything was beautiful, fabulous and fairytale. Attention, flowers, spontaneous meetings, picnics, meeting his mother, his house, relatives, the dog, everything ... Almost unreal, until that moment ... ” "I know, stop talking, cheated on you?" "But he's not, he's primarily a man." "Well, then what happened ?!" "Well ... he proposed to me ..." "Ah ... awful ... I've never heard a worse thing in my life. Well, fuck, are you normal? I'm sorry, I don't know you, but I'm upset, and angry, and crazy! So don't all girls expect it, plan a wedding, choose dresses, cake, flowers, invitations? Aren’t you all crazy just when a wedding is mentioned? I really don't understand you. Only if your parents don't like him, or whatever ... ” "No, mine really love him, and appreciate him, and respect him ..." “Then I really don’t understand, to refuse pure love because of some fear, apprehension or anxiety. And run away from someone who loves you to the point of deciding to take that last step as well. Do you know that one does not run away from love? ... Never and nowhere ... ” He picked up his glass and disappeared as quickly as he appeared. I sat petrified. Well, I'm a real fool! Well, should a stranger when I see him for the first time in my life open my eyes? I'm going ... from these feet ... I'll apologize ... I'll agree, of course, what else would I do. I was in a hurry, skipping the puddles, even though I was already wet. I practiced out loud that fateful YES. "YES, I take ... in sickness and in health ... YES ... YES ... until death do us part ..." People looked at me in amazement.
"Don't mind, I'm getting married quickly so I'm practicing ..." The rain was weakening, but it was still falling. The phone rang from the bag. I was in a hurry to call, to tell anyone, that I had decided that I would agree ... "Hello, can you hear me ... hello?" "I hear, Mom, the relationship is a little bad, something's cracking ... hello, Mom, I'll agree, I'll say YES ..." "Please listen to me ... they reported ... had ... a terrible car accident ... in a hospital ... didn't survive ... they tried ... hello, can you hear me ... are you there ... hello, get in touch ... ”
The rain crept in quietly into the night as well. She brought with her coldness, fear and doubt ... I don't like rain ... I hate it ... YES ... I agree ...