love I always wait for. always. because I think every woman waits for it. they really want it. in Bulgakov’s the master and margarita it says that love rushed off in front of them like a killer. because that love struck them. do you understand? there was no help for them. they were the victims of their own love. however I would like to experience such a thrill. especially when you are 48 and you understand however that life really passes. a love that could really strike you like in a novel every woman should have it. I think I have had it. but with the wrong men. the one I have with my husband is a diluted love. in a lot of water. this is why I don’t feel it. but it is there. you feel good day after day you feel good. everything in its place. you feel good. routine. and even if you want to go elsewhere it is something you want.
because when you feel bad those moments of happiness are a few and then you start to suffer again. and then when you feel good day after day you must get used to it. mind you really should get used to normality. little things. for example, for me the best moment of the day is when after dinner everybody, I call them in their evening dresses, in their pajamas, in front of the stove, the door is closed and everybody is there, in that little world. everybody has eaten. has drunk. all clean. very warm and we are together. there I say but how could I say, this morning, how much I hate this man. ’cause he swears. because when he swears it feels like stabs to me. he is a worker. faithful. small. very small. when he told me that he was 63 inches tall I said so am I. because I didn’t want to miss the opportunity of my life because of two inches.
there is no happiness in love. because there is experience in love. experience of something mystical, in my opinion. happiness is too trivial. you eat an orange and you are happy. especially if you were thirsty. you drink a glass of water and you are superhappy. with love this doesn’t happen. you see a person. you eat him. drink him. and it’s never enough. you are never happy – she laughs. and of love I have plenty of stories. of those of a little love. three hours. three days. three months. three years. you know I had a friend that one morning we woke up. we went out and hitch-hiked. a car stopped by with two boys. we went to the mountains with them. we spent the whole morning with them. making love. then they drove us down to the city and we virtually separated. to go back home we got on another car. and we went with other people. and so. the two of us had I don’t know how many intercourses. but it was like an experience. none of us wanted to. we are not nymphomaniac. two normal girls. young. divorced. free. it happens that you really have this halo of electricity on you. because the skin’s collagen spurts out. the laughter out of drinking too much. smoking. and you really get them. because it’s the men that really want you. and every time they want and want you. that you give them in the end. because you feel that you have so much to give. that in the end we looked at each other and said: how possible? we have had this experience. maybe you know why? because when you meet certain people you become another. you complete people. if you meet somebody you complete each other. and he could make you do things that you would never say you could do. but maybe he wouldn’t do it as well, on his own. or maybe with somebody else it would be a vulgar thing. because afterwards we thought that it was rather dangerous. practically eleven years have passed, maybe more. and recently we have chatted and I said that maybe because we had this amount of giving that they could not be enough for us. it was an experience for them too. never happened. will never happen. like in a book…
first love. first. first. first. he only made with his hand like that as to take something that was near. I have never forgotten this. I thought that maybe he wanted to hug me. but what happened to me can’t be compared with any other physical thing. this bomb that reaches you. it was just like touching something that you go on searching for. that sensation.