Армине Аракян - Размышления в тему и без

Have you ever felt this overpowering, inhuman, breathtaking passion raising in you? Can you imagine yourself sitting in a small room with your beloved one without any hint to intimacy, and yet feel how the inner you opens its eyes and looks into his eyes through yours. May be it is then that the electricity paralyzes you entirely and you can hear your body breathing, your heart beating, your eyes looking nowhere near him, but clearly seeing him in front of you? Have you sensed the inevitable? It happens when your inner self depicts clearly the picture of the following few hours to your subconscious. You see with clarity the tide of passion swiping you away and actually feel what is happening to you. This is probably the true moment of connection with universe when the grateful universe wishing to thank you for the ability to FEEL allows you to see what will happen NOW. Have you felt how the torrent emerging from your entire personality electrifies him and he is sitting there waiting for you to take full power over his emotions? Have you ever felt how you gradually fill him with yourself, to the brink, and it is THEN that you see yourself in his eyes and you know that the magic is there. The magic of conversation of souls. The magic of energy and impulse. Have you not always dreamed of this feeling? The feeling of living passion? The feeling of yielding in all your powers in order to become as strong as the universe itself? I love this feeling. I LIVE this feeling. I dream of dying with this feeling. This is all that matters. This is all that remains. This is all that is true. Everything else is derivative. Everything else is «because of» not «for». Some people are lucky to know the reason. I am HAPPY to know the way. I love this life.

What a strange weekend… I’ve been watching movie after movie till my eyes hurt enough to remind me of Visine and of the need to switch it off and go to sleep. I was watching movies which I never watched before. Movies which aroused nothing but disgust before. But now they aroused nothing in me. I watched Cargo 200, perhaps the blackest movie I have ever watched. I watched Morphine… another hopeless story which proves the senselessness and vanity and needlessness of all our efforts to pretend that we are better than we are in reality… Why those movies did not touch me today? I was watching bloody scenes, not visual graphics like in horror films, but really bloody scenes of amputation, of real living maniac doing god knows what… I was watching it without blinking an eye, without even holding breath… NO, please, the movies were PERFECT! Balabanov is one of the best movie-makers of the world, perhaps equal to Tarantino in his grotesqueness. This is not what matters. The matter is with me. I am scared of it. This is the indifference. The self-destroying indifference towards everything happening. As if it all happens to someone else, not me. The reluctance to move, to speak, to act, to learn, to smile. Getting back to the state of trance, waiting the end to come. Waiting the last day as a solace. Starting to cry, but holding back tears, as if ashamed of my own momentary weakness. Waking up, hoping for the end of the day. Going to work, hoping for the time to run home and get shut down in the safety of my own bedroom. Psychologists would give this syndrome some clever name. I do not care how it is called. I do not even care how it is felt. I do not care if it will end or not. I do not want to know where it started and why. I am not angry. I am not sad. I am not happy. I am not grieved. I am not. I AM not. Running from myself somewhere! But myself is chasing me, clinging to me, not letting me go, not letting me escape. Oh yes. And I did not listen to music today. Nor did I yesterday. And the day before yesterday. Three days without music. And with Balabanov. Can we call this a punishment of some kind? I think we could. Myself is chasing me non-stop… Myself is cruel. Myself hates me and wants to hurt me. And the one who can save me is very far away, busy acting himself out. Acting so talentlessly, so miserably that I hate myself for letting him in. He does not let me go. He holds me. His silence is chasing me together with myself. I have two enemies: Myself and his misery. We are so similar to each other in our chase. I almost let him catch me. I almost did that – but he did not believe me. He will never believe that I was in his hands, with myself. With the best in me. Such a strange weekend it was. A strange weekend with strange impressions and strange visions. A horrible runaway from myself. It hurts so much. When will you come and take this pain away? I am waiting. I know I must wait. I know you are there and you do not let me go. Do not cry. You are crying my tears away too.

I woke up with the sense of its being over. The door to green and intimidatingly beautiful night when the stars were so near while we were sitting on a rocking chair, is closed. The door to my heart-room where I store all our small secrets. Nobody knows about them. Nobody knows that you exist. I never enjoyed keeping this a secret as much as now. It is so much mine that sharing it with anyone destroys a piece of it. I will store our every secret in my heart-room, but will not be able to give it back to you. So forget about them all. Live on. Live on the way you can. Live on without me in your eyes. Without my hands on your pulse. Without your eyes on me. Stop keeping them on me. I do not want to feel them any more. They are false. The falsehood is in your every word and move and effort. Do not need to know anything. I have enough to keep myself going till the end of my days. I have had enough of it all. So much feeling, so much ability to feel, God. Why have you endowed me so much? Why I must feel so much? Why cannot I live like the plants or animals who only follow their voice and do not even stop to care. Make me stop to care and regret for the things not done.

Can you remember my love, how my reflexion in the mirror sheltered yours in the night, when there was only you and me in the small room under the bra light? Can I ever forget your fascinated look at my reflexion, your admiration of possessing it all? Can I ever forget how hard I worked to build it all for us? Can I ever forget how hard it was for me to believe in you and me? And now that I started believing, you are scared as ever. Scared to death… Scared to escape. Advise me my love. What shall I do? Shall I stop believing? Or shall I start hating you for not being able to see what you are doing? Both require too much effort and I am effortless my love. I am effortless. I am tired. I will just be gone. Gone and forgotten. Oh yeah. I know. Not forgotten, because it can never be. I will be haunting you for all your existence? I do not want. I do not want to haunt you. Stop thinking of me. Just let us let it go. It must be stopped. I have lost my architectural skills. The building I made is not perfect. I want to ruin it NOW. I need help. A help from outside… I have built something partial, imperfect, incomplete, faulty, feeble. I was mislead. It happens. NO need to panic. I was just mislead by myself. Do not be scared. You have witnessed my self-destructive love. You have pulled me out. But the addiction is there. You pulled me out, but did not hold me. You saved me for no reason… for no reason my love.

Люблю жизнь, когда в городской суматохе внезапно пахнет сиренью. Люблю жизнь, когда неочем думать. Люблю жизнь, когда нет необходимости доказывать что-то, когда все и так понятно без слов. Люблю жизнь, когда кому-то что-то удается сделать такое, что потом будет нужно всем… Люблю жизнь, когда воспоминания не терзают а дарят улыбку. Вспоминаю тебя, любимый. Я обещала тебе никогда не плакать когда буду думать о тебе. Я обещала это тебе в теплую ночь, сидя в маленьком кафе на берегу моря, когда все искали нас и думали, что я пошла мыть руки. А я сбежала к тебе и мы сидели с тобой как два вора – зная что нарушаем все что можно нарушить… Зная что мечтаем о несбыточном. Я обещала тебе, что не буду плакать никогда, а то ты меня возненавидишь. Я видела твои слезы. И ты видел мои слезы в твоих обятьях. Но ты отрекся от меня уже в ту ночь, в маленьком придорожном кафе на берегу моря. Ты отрекся заранее, не надеясь на чудо. 3.5 года жизни моих прожито надеждой на чудо. Мало ли я сделала для приближения этого чуда? Мало ли я вложила в нашу любовь? Запомнилась ли я тебе? Ненавидишь меня за то что смела нарушить все запреты? Что ты, любовь моя? Я горжусь каждым мигом, проведенным рядом с тобой. И даже теперь, когда ты нашел то что так долго искал… а я потеряла то что наконец нашла, я не плачу. Нет я не плачу из-за этого. Ведь жизнь пахнет сиренью. И люди изобретатют все новые и новые заменители счастья? Ведь ты же знал что я сдержу слово? Ну может только изредка, когда никто не видит… я позволяю себе тайно нарушить слово данное тебе, любимый. Ты просил улыбаться когда вспомню о тебе. Но ты грустный клоун. Так же как я. Ты грустный клоун, и зеркало моей души дало трещину в тот день когда я осознала, что ты видимость счастья. Ты мираж, самый восхитительный который был в моей жизни. Запахло сиренью опять. Перед глазами обожженая сигаретою скатерть, бутылки пива которые ты пил за нас двоих и обижался что я не пью, и твоя рука на моей. Просто молчанье и этот взгляд которым мы имели неосторожность поделиться в течение 15 минут. Неужели я не знала что обрекаю себя? Как я была безрассудна и неосторожна господи!!! И зачем ты не остановил меня? Как же теперь жить без возможности вглядеться в тебя? Вспоминай обо мне любимый!!!! Может когда запахнет сиренью, ты будешь вспоминать обо мне ТАМ, на берегу ненавистного тебе моря?

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».