"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes

but in having new eyes." Marcel Proust

    the end of the one-act play for a couple written in 2002 and vanished

within all  hard-disc info next year*. 

…scattered rolling over floor pearls shimmers as the shedding tears… blood-red trace of spilled wine... the picture “Loneliness”, described by the artist as " created by the moment, when soul is sized by unbearable profound anguish, and a severe pain from loneliness and uselessness tears the heart in pieces". The window, the pane of which stifles a pressure of blasts logged by perpetual cold downpour, obscuring the whole world…just the wall, gray and cold, is behind the window.... 

Meanwhile, somewhere there, behind the wall, the sun spreads its warmth and light over everything it touches… and maybe here, very near, somebody also looks through a window wistfully and wait...