I enjoy serenity of April evenings. Sitting on the table, back against the wall, cup of steaming green tea in hands, in front of the sky - serenity of lilac and blue. Contemplating resembles fishing in the lake, that secret lake of mine hidden at the heart of the forest.
I am aware I miss Zhdan - not as a lover, but as a kinspirit. 'cause without that sex is just a machinery.
And definitely I miss our gourmet conversations in Ukrainian. In the morning I phoned my sister just to relish the sound of the mother tongue, taking every crumb in.
There's something like a warm golden haze - welcoming - in the steam capping my teacup. Come. Come here. Drop in.
I smile. I'd be glad to share another bit of talk, another slice of silence - just like an apple pie.
Still, I won't venture any further. I won't insist. You'll come when it's high time for. I hope you will.

On the tip of my tongue I feel melting sweetness of honey as silence fills me to the brims.
J'attends. Comme la turquise.

(c - Joanna Sierko-Filipowska)