No one knows better than she does that she can't sleep at night without her glass filled with red wine. Yes, the wine, that red wine.
She always stood out from the others around her, making her feel sometimes insignificant and sometimes arrogant and unapproachable. She holds her glass tightly, yes, this glass of red, scarlet wine, a glass of wine that accompanies her every night.
This glass of red wine is her only companion.
She speaks to him with tenderness, - she has always been tender with anyone who was close to her, - but now, in recent years, she has only had a glass of wine, this wonderful red wine, for company.
They all left, they disappeared, or rather they discreetly moved away and her voice remained like an eerie echo, speaking into this glass of wine. What does she say to him, what does she confess to him! She could talk to him for endless hours, days about so many things that weigh on her.
She had once been naive enough to believe that they liked her because of her character alone, how wrong she was? She simply had the privilege of being able to serve them in any way she could, and everyone enjoyed what she offered them from the heart and without any compensation of course. She was naive after all, that's what she was, a naive person, she drinks from the red wine again, holds the glass tightly and drinks and drinks.
They learned to call it exploitation, but they learned it late, when it was no longer necessary for them, because they had already learned to say the word. no.
Naive, kind, polite, always well-mannered, lady, but overly naive, so much so that she never understood the malice that possesses people, rather the little people who creep up until they are close to you and then when they can't identify with what you do, they become jealous, and leave.
This is how the so-called friends left after the initial No, They became smoke, supposedly people with feelings. And what did he gain? What did he want to gain? Yes, of course he had a tremendous gain... a glass of red, wonderful wine.
How many times did she think about giving in and breaking it, breaking this glass with the red liquid that could be her blood, breaking the glass but breaking it would break her heart, and then she would lose the blood of her heart, but was it her blood? Or a glass of red wine?
Yes, a glass of red wine, bright red, he drinks but it is never empty and he drinks and drinks and only drinks.
Moments later she kisses the glass, talks to him, says sweet words to him like the ones she used to say herself, but which she now longs to hear. She talks and gets angry when she doesn't get a single answer, she raises her voice and talks about what makes her angry, she says dirty, ugly words, curses that she never uttered, even though she should. She wants to release that energy of hers that was permanently imprisoned in her mouth, in her mind, in her entire being, but still she doesn't get a response.
She kisses the glass, - a sensual movement - erotic, like a lover, who wants it as hers, selfishly only for her and she trembles, trembles at the thought and only for the erotic encounter that, like a vision, brings her shivers.
She looks like she's lost her mind, but is she talking to a glass?
She wears an airy white shawl, goes out the front door, – it's a door you open and get lost in nowhere – more than nothing, nowhere, yes, this nowhere will redeem her.
She drinks the wine again, steps on the paved road, in front of her is a sad courtyard, tangled branches like nets, she screams but no voice comes out, only a sharp breath, how can she take two steps and get lost in everything?
Suddenly everything empties before her, nothing but emptiness. She leaves, but won't she take anything with her? Won't she take anything?
She wants to escape from the memories, but what can she get? She wants something, to know that she is alive, that her heart is not broken. Oh yes, that glass of red wine, that is all she wants.
She stumbles, she thinks she's dancing, she sways, she opens her arms like in a waltz, does she hear music, or is her head buzzing? No, it's not music, it's buzzing, the glass, where is the glass? And the wine? where is her own red wine?
She was wearing a white scarf, not a red one, she remembers it well, but how did she blush? Is anyone near her? Who took her glass? How did it disappear? Her own glass with the scarlet wine, that was all that remained hers, but it was gone, everything has left her side.
She loses her balance.
Falling to the ground, she flirts with the paving stones, in front of the front door she rolls, tries to make the move to get up, she doesn't succeed, she searches, wants to grab the glass, she feels like she's losing her breath. Everything around her is a blur.
There is nothing, no glass, no red wine, but she can't do without it, it is her companion, her thoughts abandon her, and she begs for a breath, one more breath, let her catch up, she only wants the glass.
Her hands are bleeding, she touches pieces of shattered glass, caresses them, and it hurts, how it hurts!!
photo Greek Radio FL
