To elegant Ljubljana with such small hands
When I first told her about the trip, she said, “Travel for me too,” her eyes shining. When it was time to leave, I reminded him that I was leaving tomorrow. “Take a ride for me,” she said, as if it was the first time she’d said it.
It is important to pay attention to repeated sentences.
One sunny morning we got up, flew and landed in another land. The sun embraced us again. As the sentence echoed in my head, I thought – How could I travel for her? We left for the city in a minibus. We entered a green road. A dome of blue, white dreams floating in the dome, a field of sky, colors that never leave the flowing path. The austere soul is a memory that has forgotten its lifelong past in an instant and flown to the memory of the eternal. Hold it if you can: It’s going on the wing
The hotel was a tiny stopover, we were back on the road in the arms of a lovely family. The roads became hairpinned again, we saw flowering gardens in small villages. In the alleyways, little children on their little bicycles – looking up at the same big sky as us. We took a breath at the edge of the lake and ran to the mirror of the water, put our hands in it and broke it. They said there is an island – a raft, a shore, the end of a tiny water voyage. We returned to the big shore on the same raft with the Indian children who embroidered the silence of the lake, which seemed to stretch out into infinity, with the singing of their tongues.
We spotted a castle: On the way, the forest drew us in, we lost our way, we looked for a way, we found a way, we went out, we were tired, we were hungry. We were satiated with the setting day, in the company of the mirror lake. Our foreheads were stroked and kissed; we fell asleep, woke up and walked through the waking city, hearing the quiet and innocent breathing of people sleeping in their homes – early in the morning. The sun rising from the east in the clouds above the river, and the ridge of the castle on the right – the architecture of nature and man, the created and the creator. A sudden awe, a feeling, a love in this city that has woken up but whose inhabitants are asleep… For me too, travel…
I suddenly sobered up: I can’t travel for you. I can’t travel for you either…
I’ll walk in you. But it’s inside you.
Where have I come? Distances, kilometers, flying, landing, running… Blues, greens, land, waters… Where have I come? Where do I wander, where do I look?
Love was poured over my head.
That’s what happens when I’m not traveling for you, but in you.
The dove in the square of the pink-colored church knew it too.