"Hate is love without understanding."

Richard Davis Bach

1

08:16 AM

The cold handle of a massive door between two golden signs with the names of the faculties. Light knock sharp studs on the marble stairs. The border of white slabs and old parquet meets the twilight of corridors. Now there is nothing more desirable and dear than the empty nooks of the biofac, loud staircases, deserted audiences. Not a single living soul has yet disturbed undisturbed peace, and I can hear my footsteps bouncing off the walls. Undoubtedly, the building is alive. It breathes with me, reads my thoughts, feels my pain. In the early morning, while there is no one, we feel as one, finding in each other salvation from cutting loneliness. Just as a biofac is not alone, being filled every day with crowds of students and teachers, so I am overgrown with fleeting connections, superficial interests, casual acquaintances. But I do not believe anyone except him, and the walls do not know how to lie.

Biofak gave me great happiness, bringing hope to disappointment.

Biofak gave the most pleasant moments of my life, mixing them with the strongest blows.

Biofack - the only witness of my madness.

Biofack - my fate.

08:30 AM

Cracked sill on the second floor. It is ambiguous, as everything that exists and that does not exist in our world. Warm on the battery and burning cold from the window. Next to him is an urn, which is always smoking from badly extinguished gobies, sifting sunlight through gray clubs. How many things this window-sill could tell, doomed to give your lean ass a daily basis, but, I still haven't completely lost my mind to talk with window-sills in all seriousness. I enjoy peace and tranquility until the lights are lit, the glass doors of the classrooms are closed, and the crowds of students do not fill the space with boom. There is no anxiety, trepidation, or expectation in my soul, although I know for sure what should happen in a few minutes.

08: 52 AM

"A Sound of Thunder". I feel your appearance at the very beginning of the corridor, I feel the magnetic vibration of the floor from the small, very not impressive steps, light and insecure. A glimpse, a meaningless greeting — and I feel hot. I know that you will immediately evaporate, and I will have some time to pull myself together and, upon your next appearance, pour a wave of cold contempt.

So are the days: under the hoarfrost indifference, filled with sharp pieces of hidden mockery.

I HATE YOU!

2

For what? Believe me - not from scratch. Suppose, unconsciously, you did what you could not do to me. Under no circumstances. I hate you for never being in my place, never in my body, never understanding many sensations, never knowing what it is like to be such a woman. SUCH means unusual, not the same as the vast majority of frigid marasmatics and hysterical fools on their heads.

You know, if a good tooth fairy offered me (for the fact that I treat my teeth in a private clinic) as a discount to a regular customer, one single desire, then I would prefer a banal exchange of bodies for a couple of weeks to all the treasures of the world. Only in this way would we be in the calculation for the suffering caused to me.

And everything will be fine. In the female body can also live. Just breathe, just move. You get used to. Or just it seems?

I could explain endlessly, you will never penetrate anyway, you will never understand even a hundredth part of what makes you feel.

Of course, this feeling is the least like a headache or nausea; just an infectious disease with fever and chills, dryness and burning in the throat, difficulty breathing. Anxiety symptoms. But most of all it resembles magnetism.If there is the attraction of living flesh, then it certainly is. Sometimes it seems to me that it really is. True. Otherwise, how do I feel it?

It would be funny and strange, probably, to see yourself from the outside. For some reason, people never fully understand how beautiful they are. They simply do not see their obvious merits and do not know how to love what seems to them obvious shortcomings. Do you want me to tell how my eyes see you?

Your image excites me, even when you are not around. I close my eyes and, as if in reality, I see a fragile body in a wrap of jeans slipping from the bottom of my jeans and a shapeless plaid shirt. Any clothes on you seem alien shell. You live separately from her, and the lines of the body are guessed unmistakably (at least by me). Small stature, lean build, retaining childhood patina, slightly bulging shoulders, elbows, pelvic bones, small steps, (sigh).

DREAM OF A PEDOPHILE!

Fortunately, in the prevailing way of an infantile sexual object, I refuse to distinguish between a mature, mature, and, no doubt, an interesting personality. I do not see her and do not want to understand you. It is much more pleasant to take you as an attachment to a member, reveling in fantasies about your innocence and naive desires, which, in fact, have not been so pure and attractive for a long time. You are not interested in me. I don't need a love that you don't believe in, or loyalty that has no value for both of us. Is it only mutual respect, although where does he come from here? No, I do not dream of feelings.

I NEED YOUR BODY, your body and nothing else. At such moments, I hate for what happens to me, and you - for the fact that you are the cause of these experiences. The smell of your hair, the look of neat hands drives me crazy; I cannot control myself, restrain my impulses. Want very much.

What I'm talking about? You can not understand. You have never experienced such a thing, at least in relation to yourself. Now you will learn something new, you will not even see it, but rather you will feel completely on the other side. No magic, I will lift the curtain, and you will see yourself through the eyes of a deranged girl, almost the way I see you every morning.

It would seem - nothing special. You have seen yourself billions of times, reflected from hundreds of glare-free surfaces: mirrors, wet asphalt, window glass, superimposed on dense blue twilight. Objectively, you will like yourself no more than usual, but remember - the body.

3

Now imagine for a moment that you are in a completely empty space. You can not determine the size and shape of the room, its walls then seem very far, imperceptible, then threaten to crush you with their proximity. There is nothing. There is no light, no sound, and only thick darkness, like cotton wool or marsh mud clouches you. There are no external stimuli - and the analyzers are turned off, spreading in a viscous silence. Only space continues to pulsate in time with the heart: knock-knock, knock-knock, squeezing, it moves away again, spreading out in a vacuum.

The body dissolves, passing into another remote and unknown dimension. You do not feel the tip of the nose, the surface of the skin loses its tactile sensations and gradually ceases to exist, the phalanges of the fingers, one after the other, transfer to another level of consciousness, and only the heart continues to tap: tap-tap, tap-tap.

Consciousness is paralyzed. You are no more.

Instant flash forces the micro universe to shrink faster. A thin ray of light, too bright, cuts non-existent more flesh from somewhere inside. You find yourself locked in a cramped cage of the ribs. An unusual foreign body begins to materialize around. In contrast to the narrow, sharp shoulders, you feel immensely heavy hips, between which a new pulling feeling is emerging - an emptiness, furiously demanding filling, a gap, spewing glowing earth's bowels. Get used to it.Now it will be so until you again dissolve into the abyss of indifferent calm, leaving the monastery that now belongs to you. Consciousness currents probing new container for themselves, reaching the most distant of its ends. Here are the long ...