Lies of closed eyes. Виктория Олеговна Рогозина

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      The couple seemed to drag on longer than usual. Perhaps due to the fact that I spent the weekend reading the ill-fated textbook, I was bored at the lecture today. Until now, it all seemed like nonsense. Starting with wings. I was afraid to ask myself the main question, realizing that this could be the beginning of my mental disorders (or their continuation). I even started taking motherwort, hoping that it would help, but realizing that I saw what I saw. And I didn’t want to go into deep thought.

      Batiushka talked about the peculiarities of religions, about faith. Lots of stuff. I listened with curiosity and some sadness. All this is surreal… I like to believe in what could be seen, touched, made an evil “bite” in the end. But… what will change? I still didn’t know all my classmates. Faces flashed and seemed to merge into one incomprehensible spot. I also sat alone. No one tried to establish communication with me, just as I did not pester anyone with questions. Only Vosmyachkin stubbornly offered his help in studying one or another subject. He often took notes from me and always found something to complain about. It seemed to be his way of starting a dialogue with me. I tried to treat such a manifestation of attention in my direction calmly and even condescendingly, because the rest of the stream stubbornly ignored Dimka, showing his disdain.

      I shook my head.

      The next day was no better or worse than the previous one. But it seemed to me that I would never get used to this vain capital. She made me sad and misunderstood. Michaelis still spent evenings with me on the roof. She didn’t understand why he was so upset. Basically, he preferred to silently look into the distance. Sometimes he started talking. And I was not clear. An ordinary guy, he was looking for himself in seclusion. I never saw him at the university. He never spoke about his studies. Wings, however, no longer seemed to be.

      And I enjoyed spending time with him. Again and again. He did not like to talk about himself, diverting the dialogue to the side. I didn’t insist.

      I don’t know what I was looking for in Michaelis, but for some reason I felt comfortable with him.

      Sometimes I went to the pool, relaxed and just loved to think… about the eternal. Rarely has anyone been here. I liked being able to swim alone. Once I accidentally turned off the light. But it was great. Light poured into small windows under the very ceiling, bizarrely reflected from the tiles, it found its place in a silvery glow in the water surface, rustling and shimmering with sparks. An amazing sight.

      The next evening, having splashed enough, I went to the shower room, and from there to the locker room. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Short, skinny. Perhaps too thin, looks sickly and even anorexic. Medium length hair. Well, although the shade is closer to ashen than to gold, the truth is that this does not save me from hackneyed jokes about the mental abilities of blondes, sadly.