I don’t remember the beginning  

I just remember it had lines 

If I were a man, I’d play football 

And I don’t remember the next line as well 

But! 

I remembered that girls should have tell about me: 

He fucked me and left while I wanted some warmth 

And then I wrote 

My train arrived to the station where I am not waited  

They said it was one of my best poems 

I know it was true 

В невозможности (in impossibility) and reluctance to change anything – a silence under the light summer rain. I walk without changing my pace, with uniform steps, like a robot. The city is completely empty – even emptier than at three in the morning when we sat on the windowsill and looked out the window. I smoked and dropped ash onto my knees while we tried to guess why so many cars were rushing through the city. Where are they pulled at the very start of a new day? Why do some of them even take a taxi? It never occurred to me that a cab driver might be dropping off someone’s drunk guests, or speeding from a mistress back to a wife with curlers. [_] Finishing my cigarette, I closed the window because drops of the intensifying rain and gusts of sharp wind kept cutting into the room. I placed my palm on the glass – cold and fogged over. Goosebumps ran across my skin. The effect was probably heightened by the alcohol, which always left me shivering. Dawn is just around the corner. Which means you will never make me tea. 
​Nothing is shattering in my head, nothing breaking, nothing hurting, no; and I probably don't fully grasp the meaning of the word "forever." No one is forcing anyone to say anything in self-defense – or whatever you call it. It’s more like emptiness. Or rather, indifference wraps itself in the curtain with me; indifference adjusts someone else’s scarf instead of me – just like the one I always dreamed of. To go with a coat and a hat. Later – hand in hand – I’ll find myself in sports journalism, or-or-or. I. Don't. Want. To. Think. At all. Take me out of this smoke-filled apartment to where the pines and the river are. Near or far. I'm tired and I need to rest. I need a change of scenery. A radical one. This isn't a time when you need to see even those dearest to you. For just one day. To catch at least a little sleep. And then... well, what comes after? 
​A quick hug instead of every possible morning word. [A heavy feeling of being exhausted] The silence isn't awkward at all, not destructive in the slightest. On the contrary, it acts like a fixative for an indifferent прощаниянавсегда (farewell-forever), quietly promising myself to never forget those two mornings waking up holding hands. 

I wrote a book about me writing a book 

I have no idea how good it was because I deleted it too 

But my ex still has it on his hardware maybe 

Do you remember my disco ball earrings