That’s because it happens … You hate the Void. You avoid her. Fill with something or someone. You wave it off. You close the curtains so Her breath won’t enter your house. You complain about Her in your poems… You look discontentedly over your shoulder. You grumble … You crumple napkins …
And in the evening, She turns out to be the only listener and spectator of your life that is not quite correct and understandable to others. Your Friend and … Yes, just Everyone. He sits with you on the windowsill and dangles his legs, peering into the starry sky. Or drinking beer on the floor in the kitchen, well, who else, no matter how She, will understand that it’s so great to sit in the kitchen on the floor in the evening. Read poetry, sing songs and talk about non-existent strange worlds that live in your head. Such a complex and incomprehensible head…
Laugh and cry. Speak and be silent. Think together. And do not be afraid that she will go to another. This is your void. She won’t betray. She will be by your side whenever you need it. It is She who splashes with you through the puddles, or draws patterns on the misted glass and listens to your whisper about yesterday’s dream. And falls asleep, curled up in a ball. And pats on the head when you flinch from the fact that the annoying floorboard creaked. She will be with you all night. And in the morning he will wake you up with a kiss on the forehead and say, “Wake up, dear, a new day begins. And it is yours!”