Their World in the Absence of Love...

Women's little world, limited with living squares of the grey box, in one of the dozens of similar grey boxes, which make up the whole 'middle' district...

The world consisting of two subworlds...

The Subworld for mother... for a still very young mother... who wants to be a little bit younger... to be no more than just a woman: free and not overburdened with children, begotten in the short-time periods of illusions of lasting marital happiness with the next dropped in candidate... Who (in a very secret soul's corner) would have nothing against crossing out these 'accidents' from her life's equation, sending them to the distant mysterious school... or to unknown granny for an indefinite period of time... or for something else that could resolve so much problems at once...

Oh, these girls... They are showing that there were a lot of things happened in her life already... men... time... unfavourable circumstances... they are hampering her to be light as colourful bright butterfly... cheerful, carefree, coquettish... with whom everything can be so sweet and simple for local bar regulars... she promises and she's waiting, leaving the candle light in the window like a small beacon... "just in case"...

Bright pink nest in a grey untidy box... and coverlet of the same colour... the official shade of perpetual femininity... no?..

Lines of beads on the chandelier... cheap but shining... the night table with the necessary means to maintain the beauty... posters and stickers that are not only beautify the interior, but also brings benefits... for example, covering up the holes and stains on the wallpaper (which hasn't been updated for a very long time, but still of 'just this very tone')...

And yes... the necessary CD-player, which may help to create languishing romantic surroundings in case of "if, perhaps"...

The woman that man can touch without fear for her and for himself... make-up... manicure... pedicure... hair removal in not very risky and high risk zones... the necessity of being in "you never know what might happen in the evening" readiness is imprinted on her mind... it's the loaded bazooka of some kind...
Weapon to hunt for the prey, the one that in this world of grey boxes means the level of your personal status and superiority... it's a kind of 'life is good' certificate...
and the name of this prey is a man... it can be demonstrated to the less fortunate friends... you could fight for it with those who would infringe... it's the essence and meaning of life... its ultimate goal... simply because any other one for this mentality is too mysterious and obscure...

The Subworld for girls... The girls in whose life there was no love ever... Nor a great, nor a small... no feelings that could even remotely recall the warmth and care of the family... even of an 'incomplete' one... even hopeless... with such a 'being' that no one could ever call smooth-running and harmonious... but still a 'family'... where there's always someone who will come to your bed in the evening, run her hand through your hair and tenderly kiss your forehead... "Sleep, my dear... Sweet dreams..."

They're waiting in vain... and hating that other world, where (as they vaguely imagine) all these things should be... certainly "are"... and they're almost instinctively turn the anger and resentment at those who have never paid any specific attention for this privilege simply because he got family love and tenderness with his first breath... They are hiding from pain behind the ribaldry and willing to strike first at any time just for no one could suspect them in the fact that they are "needers"... Eternal "needers" for simple human warmth...

The clothing that haven't been washed for a very long time, it is pulling over long unwashed body... the first step into new day with usual mother's angry shouts... breakfasts, lunches and dinners falling into the stomach with tasteless, not satisfying hunger clots of something that was discovered in half-empty fridge or in the mess on the kitchen table with last meals' leftovers...

And somewhere nearby a huge world is flashing and noisy... lounging on the rumpled soiled blanket thrown on the floor to make themselves comfortable, they.re greedily absorbing the spray of oceans and seas that reaches them from the TV screen... of colourful, not always meaningful events... they're observing and trying to repeat the rhythmic dance moves that causing the feeling of strange "butterflies in the belly"... and they're cutting their hands on the shards of what is called a simple individual's movement up and forward... and almost unconsciously willing to "gnaw a mountain" to be able to change everything...
A small, barely open window into a dream...

- And a door? The door to dream they did hew?
- No... There was no one to do that... So they are still peeping at their own dream through window...

When He entered their life, he has neither saw nor an ax to cut through the door into this very dream...
A man who is like a sweet colorful and light air ball, which by his unhappy circumstances was just flying by... Even the bright air balls may have their worries...
He had no purpose to change anything for anyone... But the opened heart and soul's warmth often do things of their own, forgetting that the bricks of 'accidential' good intentions do not always turn out to be yellow and they do not feel like they're obliged to pave the road at the next turn of which one happens the right miracles...

to be continued...