Time Is
maria frolova
I stand at the window and watch
colorful leaves blown by the wind.
The silence
squeezes my ears.
I slowly raise my head
and squint my eyes
to keep the tears from falling.
But they burn my face.
At once,
a sustained echo of a clock striking
resounds
in my empty room.
I quickly open the window,
but the noise of the street
doesnąt cover
the stroke of time.
I smile at my thoughts:
you didnąt like me to be late
and always hid the anger,
trying not to offend me.
I remember
my reflection
in the dim windows of the train
slowly passing me
and your face with a usual smile.
A little red leaf slowly
falls down
on my window sill.
I will miss you.
