In two hours the night Gogol Boulevard completely empty. Summer rain washed and refreshed him, June put on his emerald pajamas, endless Moscow sky was covered with dark blanket, and he prepared to sleep. Tomorrow the Boulevard Wake up and be filled with people tomorrow souls there are sad and to laugh, to meet and to part, it will all be tomorrow, but today, he falls asleep easily inhales the night air and exhales it, occasionally rustling the leaves. Lanterns illuminate the path, stretching into the unknown of existence, they do not prevent it, over the years, he got used to them. Boulevard smiles by the curves of the curbs, laughing at us, over the perishability of our thoughts and feelings, he dreams the faces of people who in his eyes were born, grew old and died. Our tens of years for him only moments ahead of him forever, and we have only oblivion.
From the depths of the Boulevard visible female silhouette, slightly swaying, it is like a boat in the ocean of lanterns floating in the silence of the night. Go on as if afraid to Wake up the Boulevard, to break his rest, afraid to break the serenity and fragility of his beautiful dream.
Continue reading “Boulevard.”