Ok. I’ve planned it. I’ll go to the small café on this day & start writing this series of stories. An apple & a thought.
About what?
About people I see, maybe talk with, or imagine their stories.
Why is the title so strange? Is a special meaning to it?
I’m so sorry, but no.
How often do I plan to write?
Sometimes. When I find a café with people. And warcoffee. And generator.
Today something went wrong. We were attacked by drones. So there is no power, no café I’ve planned to visit (they don’t have a generator).
I’m sitting in a small (cozy? not sure) café, having warcoffee (cappuccino). Next to me, there’s a girl. Maybe in her blooming 25. My golden 40th gave me a slight giggle.
- I’m sorry, do you have the internet? – asked me Blooming 25.
- No, – my golden 40th answered.
- How do you work?
- Oh, my dear, I write.
We started talking about everything. We started talking about our war. Blooming 25 lives nearby. Every day she tries to find a place with the internet to work. Her office is on the right bank of the river too.
She was in the office on Friday (yesyes, the last Friday when we were bombed heavily).
- Oh, you cannot imagine how difficult it was for me to get home from the right bank.
My poor girl.
The generator suddenly stops working. Tired of war? Sudden silence covered us.
- So silent.
- So silent.
The woman with a Christmas tree goes by. Miss Santa Claus, so happy to see you & this tree.
- Have a lovely holiday, - I thought.
Blooming 25 asked:
- Have you managed to take a picture?
- Yes.
She smiles. We were in this together. In my writing. In this café. In this war.
The sun was shining so screamingly. Winter, in all her snowless beauty, was walking the streets proudly. Kyiv is tired after the night attack. But so alive, so brave, so beautiful.
- I’m here to tell the stories of your people. I’m here to document the soul of the war.
Blooming 25 stood up and said:
- I need to find another place to work at. Good luck with writing!
- Take care! (dear Blooming 25).