I have this one place where I like to go to, but alone.
This is the only place where I go on my own. In the late evening, when the city is quiet, being tired of a relentless flow of people, I fancy going to the old church. It is hidden in the nearby forest where mould and fungus prevail. The church has been closed for a long time but I know a small passage where I can sneak in. There, inside I can feel alone with my thoughts, not being disturbed by people and machines around me. In the church the time stays still and no one asks stupid questions. Sometimes I light a candle, just to feel warmth coming from it. But looking at it I imagine how many candles where already lit over there. How many people were buried, how many funerals where given and how many tears were spilt here.
The benches are rotten, they crack when I try to sit on them. So I don't sit on them. I choose cold floor or I put a plank under my bottom and stare at the candle.
There is the light also coming from the stained glass window when I come before the evening. The image shows a figure of a man with white beard... but I don't think that it is Santa Claus. Whenever I see him it reminds me that I am really small, but once I grow up I will try to do my best to be as big as that man. I like to tell him what has happened around me, whom I like and why, but also I tell him about my mother. She is bigger then me and has bigger problems. So I try to explain him what my mother feels because I know her very well and the big Santa doesn't know everything. So I explain him that my mother is doing even better than before, after my father died, and that she continues working in the newspaper, writing some stuff that she doesn't want to share with me. But it is all right because I know where she keeps her notes. Though I don't read so fast I manage to get some of her writing. She writes really awful. She makes a lot of mistakes. Every time I read her notes I want to correct them, but then she could notice it and would of course rebuke me, as she says. And will hide her notes in some other place. But of course I will find them but it will take me some more time.
Big Santa also tells me when I should go. If his face becomes darker and darker, and he frowns I know that it is getting late and he doesn't want me to stay longer inside the church. Then it is time to go home. So my mother won't be worried about me. And I go.
This is the only place where I go on my own. In the late evening, when the city is quiet, being tired of a relentless flow of people, I fancy going to the old church. It is hidden in the nearby forest where mould and fungus prevail. The church has been closed for a long time but I know a small passage where I can sneak in. There, inside I can feel alone with my thoughts, not being disturbed by people and machines around me. In the church the time stays still and no one asks stupid questions. Sometimes I light a candle, just to feel warmth coming from it. But looking at it I imagine how many candles where already lit over there. How many people were buried, how many funerals where given and how many tears were spilt here.
The benches are rotten, they crack when I try to sit on them. So I don't sit on them. I choose cold floor or I put a plank under my bottom and stare at the candle.
There is the light also coming from the stained glass window when I come before the evening. The image shows a figure of a man with white beard... but I don't think that it is Santa Claus. Whenever I see him it reminds me that I am really small, but once I grow up I will try to do my best to be as big as that man. I like to tell him what has happened around me, whom I like and why, but also I tell him about my mother. She is bigger then me and has bigger problems. So I try to explain him what my mother feels because I know her very well and the big Santa doesn't know everything. So I explain him that my mother is doing even better than before, after my father died, and that she continues working in the newspaper, writing some stuff that she doesn't want to share with me. But it is all right because I know where she keeps her notes. Though I don't read so fast I manage to get some of her writing. She writes really awful. She makes a lot of mistakes. Every time I read her notes I want to correct them, but then she could notice it and would of course rebuke me, as she says. And will hide her notes in some other place. But of course I will find them but it will take me some more time.
Big Santa also tells me when I should go. If his face becomes darker and darker, and he frowns I know that it is getting late and he doesn't want me to stay longer inside the church. Then it is time to go home. So my mother won't be worried about me. And I go.
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