одно эссе, из моей курсовой хх


What am I doing here? There is nothing, but a noisy throng of people, all and sundry without faces and character, walking down the street. Dusk is falling. I can say that I'm lucky since I succeed in avoiding conversations and eye-contact with the passers-by. I'm just  rambling down for no reason, dwarfed into insignificance. I hear nothing, but my heavy steps bouncing off the cold asphalt. But suddenly I spot a face that was standing out in the crowd. If butterflies in the stomach mean that you are in love than what do Third World War battles mean? 


 I put on the brakes as I came closer to him. He did the same. My limbs suddenly quarreled with my brain when he stopped completely. He said a simple hello and my thoughts began to move in a bizarre dance before finding an answer. I am now hot, now cold.  


  I'm lucky as I could stare at him without being judged. He seemed to be doleful and excited at the same time. The chiselled features of his face shocked me. How can a human being be so perfect and irregular at the same time? His lips seemed to be drawn by an eight-years-old-girl who tried to do everything just like she saw in the cartoons. His upper lip was carved out of the hillside.His pupils were seeing through me like he wanted to know all my life story from the beginning  till the finale. He ate me with his eyes, and I felt pale and fragile, like a drift of smoke. 

I bet no person in the entire world could describe the color of his irises. I would say that they were gloomy-blue just like this evening. His pointed cheekbones were sharpened out of marble and if i didn't notice his stylish clothes I would probably say that his stuck out collarbones were nothing but a consequence of a five-day-long hunger. His black, curly-mop of hair, which had never been brushed, framed his face.


 I finally understood that the feeling of extreme curiosity flows both ways when I saw the blood of the soldiers that were fighting in my stomach on his cheeks. They were against the background of his pale alabaster face. 


 The air was soaked in the strong smell of tangerines - such an unusual thing for this time of the year to taste the reminiscent scents of a cold December day. It made me feel excited just like I was a child who saw the bright wraps of the presents under the dressed up christmas tree. The only difference was that it was a chilly London summer and my present was walking beside me. 


 As we started strolling in the same, unfamiliar direction we were chatting  about everything that came to our minds , but if you were to ask me exactly  what we were talking about I don't think I'm able to give an answer. I know him just for a half an hour, but we already shared the stories of our life as if we were an old married couple. Is it sick? Well, I think so, but I couldn't do anything about it since we were exchanging our immature  life experiences and I couldn't stop it as I wanted to hear every single hidden aspect of his. I bet he was playing the same game.


But suddenly something changed. The air became heavier and the smell of citruses evaporated completely. An eerie melody started playing inside of me as I began to understand that something was going wrong. 


I turned my head towards him and looked deeply into his eyes. He was looking calm. Calm, while I was burning  in a desperate agony. "Matthew" - I whispered anxiously. And he just vanished into thin air. I stopped dead in the middle of the road, floating between the real world and  delusion. I didn't even try to move. And no one could take it from me as it was the most real thing I've ever felt.