HOW I WAS THERE

I find it hard to write, because I don’t want to speak out loud most of the time. I want to hide, but here everything is in full view, and only the sea lulls me and whispers words of hope. The sea is millennial here, like the music. It is equally merciful to all, even to newcomers like me. - you are goy? non hebrew? the good neighbors ask. And it comes to my attention that they just need to turn on the stove to be warm. And it seems like there’s already a common word for warmth. But I’m still there, where my body left off. my head is there, and everything else is here. in a beautiful and imaginary country, which many people dream of visiting. - You work as a cleaner, right? -No, I paint. That’s funny. to say. I’m always funny and scared. Neither me, nor my paintings here, as well as there no one needs. but nevertheless, the inspiration, as well as the hope does not leave me. it’s warm here. and where there should be an end, autumn, cold, here flickers the