Inne Bajki

My name is Calypso, my garden overflows (It's just tension. It's just a block. Breathe it out. Breathe it out. Out.) Thick and wild and hidden, is the sweetness there that grows (as if all the creativity got hidden in the back, curled up in the stubs of the wings) (or as the muscles were eradicating the words, like weeds overgrow rose bushes left unkept for too long) My name is Calypso, I have let him go (talked for two hours with someone I barely know, and on my way home I started to think about the mythology cycle I have created long ago, about Calypso, Galathea and this never published part of Different Stories, where the Third Fairy Godmother meets Euridice. Haven't thought about it for a while) (actually,forgot it completely) Haven't seen you in a quite a while, I was down the hold just passing time (so many things eradicated or put in the boxes where they are overgrowing with cobwebs, and me lying to myself I'll open the boxes somedays) (and t

It's not broken, not yet. It is just cracked, still keeps its shape. Recognizable and without any doubts you can say it is a heart. The cracks have probably apperared some time ago. Those lines, thin as hair, meandering along the surface. They resemble a bit the ice on a river or a lake before the spring finally comes; the thaw has been there, it has done its patient job of loosening the molecules and bindings. There is dark water underneath, waiting to be released. And then, when the pressure is too great to be withheld, one night with a mighty noise, like cannonade, the ice breaks. She knows this pressure and the pain that ensues. It has been broken before, so she learned to read the signs. She prays for the eternal winter, for the unchangeable season that will stop the ice from breaking; she dreams of the waters frozen down to the bottom, and her heart made of the dark unbreakable glass. December 15th, 2015