One day in 1817, I will come here again – as a classical woman.
With all those feminine energies, ruffles and beautiful gestures.
In the meantime, I am like I am: I put on throusers, take a rucksack and go to climb the next peaks and my own fear.
One day I will give up working and will selflessly clean the pots and cook special dishes for my man.
And now I recklessly ride a bike, write pamphlets and laugh at silly jokes.
One day I will calm down in a small apartment on the outskirts of town and will knit endless scarves and mittens for my grandchildren and for the grandchildren of my neighbors. And the ligature of my thoughts and dreams will lay down plain like a smooth loops.
And now I fight with my dragons and, could hardly standing on my feet, fall into the night to enter the world of adventures dreams.
One day I will settle down in some picturesque Tuscany and will then understand, that it’s nice here, until you start cooking the same soup. And I will again look upon the horizont and be carried away by the wind.
But now I’m giving what I have. And what I am.
Hoping secretly that someone would be at least a little more bored without all this rubbish.
Author: T. Weingart
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