Not a love story

An old house
The man and the woman...
Two people living in the room filled with only one thing - their feelings. An old picture frame was hanging on the wall and inside it was a picture that only these two people could see. The empty frame was the book of their memories, their photo album and a mirror at the same time.
They were happy, they were not living, they were just being together. They never talked much, because they could read each other's thoughts, the looks and gestures were taking the place of all the words that could have been said.
Was it love? No, it was just a connection between two people. They were together because  they got used to each other by the time. There were no thoughts, no regrets, just a moment and then another one coming after it. None of them asked any questions, they had created their own answer to all the possible questions that could come to their minds.
What was connecting these two people after all? Some thought it was the passion, many considered that these two young people were just crazy, too foolish and were doing nothing but wasting their time on the relationship that didn't make sense to anyone. Obligation? Friendship? Maybe a sense of gratitude? There can be many versions, different ideas, but they called it simply a decision.
It was just a decision to be together and nothing more.
Does it really matter anyway? They were happy because there was nothing else but the moment and then another moment coming right after the previous one. A beautiful life full of memorable moments, no time, no space, no rules, no love... Just a moment...

                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Ձմեռն ու տաքսու վարորդը

-Նորից ձմեռ, ասաց տաքսու վարորդն ու շարունակեց վարել մեքենան, իսկ ես նայում էի ձյան փաթիլներին ու մտքումս կրկնում նրա ասածը` նորից ձմեռ:
Այո', նորից ձմեռ, նորից եկավ ձմեռը ինչպես տասնյակ տարիներ շարունակ, ինչպես անցյալ տարի, ինչպես նախանցյալ տարի, ինչպես տասնյակ տարիներ շարունակ` նախանցյալ տարուց առաջ և էլի հազարավոր տարիներ այդ տասնյակ տարիներից էլ առաջ: Բայց այդ ձմեռներից և ոչ մեկն էլ նման չի եղել մյուսին: Հազարավոր ձմեռներ են եկել ու գնացել, բոլորն էլ ուրիշ, նախորդից ու հաջորդից տարբեր:
 -Ա՞ջ, թե՞ ձախ
 -Ի՞նչ
 -Ա՞ջ, թե՞ ձախ,- կրկնեց վարորդը:
 -Աջ,- ասացի ես, ձեռքով ցույց տալով ձախը,- Չե, ձախ, կներեք:
Նա ծիծաղեց ու թեքվեց աջ: Իսկ իմ դեմքին հայտնվեց շփոթված ժպիտը, որն ասյպիսի դեպքերում փորձում է փրկարարի դեր տանել: Դե արի ու վարորդին բացատրի, որ իմ շփոթվածության պատճառը հենց իր իսկ ասած նախադասությունն էր, որ ինձ մտքերով չգիտես ուր հասցրեց:
Տես է, էլի տարվեցի, հասել ես, վճարի ու դուրս արի  մեքենայից:
Գնացի, կհանդիպենք:

                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Once I was a Bird...

Once I was a bird, free like a small piece of cloud, flying high above the sky, dancing with the starts. The sun was my home and the lake was the mirror I used to look in and see my reflection early in the morning. I was washing my face with the warm raindrops melting on the leaves. 

What happened one day was the disaster that all the birds are scared of. I was put in a cage, away from the life I had, lost without my freedom, afraid of the darkness around. I lost the bright sunshine and the midnight moon.What could I do? I was just a little bird, lost and afraid, until one morning I woke up and the reality shocked me.

The one who has put me in that cage was nobody else but myself... The question "What could I do?" was changed into "What should I do"? I knew I should wake up, I had to wake up from the dream I had put me into. I realized that I'm the only one who can give me back my freedom... And I did. I got what I wanted or what I thought I wanted to have. I still don't know.

"Once I was a bird, it was a long time ago..." she started her story again, softly smiling.

...Sometimes we put ourselves into the cages where we want to be. The idea of not belonging there slowly vanishes away and one day while telling your story you just realize that things are more complicated then you thought they were, you realize that you never understood yourself and your decisions, but you still smile softly and just go on... Once...

                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Magic Bubble

Remember those bubbles? I'm sure you loved them when you were a kid, I did and I still too.
I used to blow the magic bubbles and watch them fly high until they vanished away. I was always trying to send one of the bubbles to the clouds, hoping it will reach the sky. When the bubble was too high I stopped looking at it, so I don't notice how it is fading, that gave me a hope that maybe after all my small magic bubble did reach the sky. I hoped that it is living up in the sky, flying among the white clouds, playing with the sunshine. I was making my own fairy-tale and forcing myself to believe it, at the same time knowing that it was not true.

Some people remind me of those bubbles. They live with no worries, without carrying how long their life will be. It seems like someone just decided to blow them in the air and they are just going wherever the wind might take them. Such people don't know much and they never try to find out something new. They just live, they fly along the road that is already set. Sometimes I feel that those people are the ones who know exactly what happiness is. They never look for any answers because they never ask questions, they don't wonder why things happen, they don't care how everything works and why their own journey is set in a certain way. Maybe after all it is the real happiness, to just move forward like a small bubble that fades away after a moment when it appears.
Sometimes we all have to be just like bubbles. At a certain period all you wanna do is just fly along, go forward without wondering where are you going and why. Sometimes living like a small magic bubble is the only solution, to just live, to be happy, to close your eyes and mind to the things you don't want to see.

Maybe now it's the time for me to be a bubble for a while. No, I'm not weak and even if I am I won't be afraid to admit it. I'm not running away, I'm flying away.
... Small magic bubble was flying in the air, doing its best not to touch a single leaf, not to die on someone's hand. The small magic bubble, it was different from all the others, it had dreams, plans and ideas. It could be sad and even cry sometimes, but no one could notice it, because outside he was still the small colourfull bubble, enjoying the lightness of the flight.
My small magic bubble... I believe that you will reach the sky...




                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Անձրևից հետո

  Երևանյան շոգ ամառ էր: Հուլիսյան արևից քաղաքը հոգնել էր ու մի տեսակ թառամած տեսք ստացել: Շտապող մարդկանց դեմքերն ավելի էին հոգնել, փողոցները մի տեսակ ճնշող էին դարձել ամռան տապից: Գիշերային խավարն անգամ տաք էր ու շոգեցնող: Աշնանն ու գարնանը անձրևից միշտ դժգոհող մարդիկ, ամռան շոգին երազում էին անձրևի մասին:

  Հուլիսյան հերթական մի առավոտ արթնացա անձրևի հաճելի ձայնից: Սառը օդը պատուհանից լցվել էր սենյակ ու այն լցրել էր անձրևի անուշ, տաք բույրով: Ժամանակ չկորցնելով` արագ դուրս եկա փողոց: Անձրևի մանր կաթիլները թափվում էին վրաս ու մոռացնել տալիս նախորդ օրերի անտանելի տոթն ու այրող արևը: Քաղաքում տարածվել էր թարմության ու դուրեկան սառնության շունչը: Սիրում եմ մեր քաղաքի բույրը անձրևից հետո, հատկապես ամառային անձրևից հետո: Օդում տարածվում է տաք ասֆալտի բույրն ու անձրևի կաթիլների սառնությունը:

What should we learn from a Snowflake?

  It was snowing today.
  ... so beautiful, white, pure.
  I was looking outside the window and wondering how does it feel to be a snowflake. I guess they have a short life. The white snowflakes come down from the sky, fly along the cold winter wind, they reach the ground and soon melt away. Some of them don't even get to the ground but vanish away standing on a tree, inside a kid's warm hand or on a glass of a window. But they all seem so happy, they bring so much joy with them, those small white starts are hiding some magic. What makes them so beautiful and happy? Maybe the flight. Maybe that's the real meaning of their life, of any kind of life - to be able to fly.
  People are born here on the Earth and many of them believe that they will go to the sky later. The snowflakes are born up in the sky and maybe their dream is to come down to the Earth. Maybe their journey is the end of the long search, a journey that is worth their own life.
  Heaven.
  We're looking for a heaven somewhere else while our own place in the heaven for many others.
  It was cold, but the white beauty around made me forget about it. The snowflakes. How lucky they are, how happy they are. Is it because they don't see or hear? Is it because they have  a chance to create their own views and sounds? Those small stars get together and change our big world the way they want it to be. They paint the city with white colour and maybe secretly laugh at us, laugh at all those who think that they are the ones who control their own world, the world around them.

  Maybe it's even funny that the simple snow made my thoughts go so far away. I kept looking at the dancing snowflakes and thinking how happy they are and it made me smile.
  People, we should learn from that small, beautiful snowflakes, we should learn to be happy, to enjoy our journey and melt away at the right time, at the right place, we should melt away with smiles on our faces.
  Let's live like a snowflake, so they will look at us and think "How happy they are"...

                                                                                                                         © LiLit Ghazaryan