#vozvrate

[vlyuvdova]

МОСКВА,    РОССИЯ,    СССР.    1989 г.

(  i shouldn’t even be here.  )        the cold still nips at her skin the same way it always has,       drawing blood from her cheeks,       powdering her nose cherry red  &  ruddy.        natasha had stopped calling this land her  mother  two decades ago,        but that never changed how much the air can still comfort her  &  the altitude can clear her thoughts.       [  𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝙽’𝚃 𝙰𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙽 ; 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙽 𝙰𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂  ]        she winces at the thought,       not out of shame,       but of disgust.       i have no mother.        they always lied to me.

she’s not yet had the chance to cut her hair,        &  in the frigid wind atop the roof,       she’s grateful it touches her neck  &  offers her a bit more warmth,       even if she’s so gotten used to its lack of maintenance in shortness.        still,      her limbs hold back shivers  &  her jaw sets against the snow,        &  she drops to the ground not far from her destination    :    rather,      THEIR DESTINATION.

there had been whispers for months,       murmurs from the under  &  overgrounds alike of  КРАСНЫЙ ОПЕК,         returned again,       (  to torture me,      no doubt.  )        a selfish thought,       she knows.       he isn’t alone,      he has company,        &  she wishes she could tell laynia  &  nikolai to leave,      or to come away  &  let her see him.       better,      to tell her who he is.        but now she stands,        walks,      runs after the spectre of destruction she’s tried to convince herself to ignore  &  abandon to the recesses of memory like all the rest.       SHE HAD ALWAYS BEEN ANDROMACHE      —      she had hoped that life would have been kind to her  &  let her forget it.        still,      natasha tries.

«       where do you think you’re going ?       »

⧗     —     @vozvrate

[bel-ova]

(     x.     @vozvrate​     )

𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝚃𝚂,    𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝚃𝚂,    𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙻𝚂𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙼𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝚁𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼,       and that fact alone seemed to scatter a certain insinuation     ———      that they hadn’t been rotting long before this.     (    what an amusing lie.    )        𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍,       familiar putrefaction  &  decomposition,         perhaps for different set of reasons,        but stemmed from the same tree.        different branches,       different directions      ;      and yet,        𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆'𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.        it would seem counterintuitive to exercise patience,        given how time has become a bitter enemy that has slowly perpetrated resentement,         𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝.         ‘ when you are tortured with a lack of time,       it’s actually you who wins. ’         .  .  .      those were the words of   пётр старковский.        𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒓,       and she would never forget the night they came out of his mouth.         

[        𝙼𝙰𝚈𝙱𝙴  𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝙻𝙻  𝚂𝙴𝙴  𝙷𝙸𝙼  𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽,      𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃       . . .       𝙼𝙰𝚈𝙱𝙴  𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝙻𝙻  𝙶𝙴𝚃  𝙾𝚄𝚃  𝙾𝙵  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙾𝙽𝙴  𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴,      𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝙻𝙻  𝚃𝙴𝙻𝙻  𝙷𝙸𝙼  𝙾𝙵  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴  𝙰𝙳𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴  !       𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝚃𝙾,        𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝚃𝚆𝙾  𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝚄𝙽𝙸𝙵𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙳  𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 .        ]

«      who told you i don’t know how to pull apart a  микоян  ?       your lovely ex  ?      »       truth is,        she doesn’t know.       𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙟𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙤,       at least for the time being.          an offended frown appears on the corners of her features at the sight of the luniformly lit cigarette,       𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗮 𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗳𝗳       ——        absolutely ridiculous.          «      how come i don’t get one of those  ?        give me one.      »

unstartled by a nearby group of agonizing screams,       the woman once again turns to him.       she won’t voice it,        𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡.         «      isn’t it kind of her fault that you’re here  ?        kind of as in——     totally her fault  ?        how mean.      𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈,       шостаков.         you’re lucky i am here.       »

[vlyuvdova]

[ THE FAMILIARITY OF THE OBSERVED. ]  even the most distant of strangers will know the bone - ache of being watched by what cannot be watched itself   -------   EYE : SHROUDED BY OBSCURITY : THE(Y) OMNIPRESENT.   the crowds move like water,  a stream unobstructed   &   unseen.   were she to parse their faces,   even then would she come up in a haze    ---   they all blur together,   one to the next.   [ SHE CAN’T EVEN REMEMBER HER OWN FACE, SOME DAYS. ]

the glass that divides their mundaneness from all else serves first as a glimpse,   second as a reflection,     &   in the latter she takes what little time she can to see herself.    CHERRY - LIPPED,   APPLE - CHEEKED,   a vision of woman she is told to recognize though she surely knows it to be a lie   -----   she supposes she looks younger,   or perhaps older,   perhaps both before   &   beyond,     &   perhaps she can convince herself of this.   [ A RIB IS STILL TENDER BENEATH THE TIGHTENED SHAPE OF HER WAIST & SHE WISHES SHE COULD REMEMBER WHY. SHE WISHES SHE COULD REMEMBER ANYTHING. ]   then,   she does not need to convince herself  --  she need only convince him.   the squeal of an engine outside sets her aright,   pulls her from her thoughts,     &   it is in her best habit that she meets alexei’s gaze   &   smiles.  «    i have never been here before,   even though i’ve heard much about it.   » 

  ▸   @vozvrate​

[vlyuvdova]

« THEY WON’T MISS YOU - TERRIBLY. »     the wind rattles the panes,   PAIN HIDDEN BEHIND THE SOUND   ---   she hides her hurt carefully,   does not deign to give her loneliness name.    «   stay longer  :  A DAY,  A WEEK   --------   what difference will it make to them ?   you have a wife to please,   alexei alanovich.   »

  ▸ @vozvrate​

[viduamarchive]

❝      YOU  LOOK  FAMISHED.    ❞    simple words,     simple twisted polity,    for the creature that has not graced the land of  DEATH in an age.     the tsaritsa can barely recall the last moment she had caught sight of  THE ONE WHO KNOWS.     ❝      is it the war or your fancy that brings you ?    ❞

DEATHLESS :    @vozvrate​

[viduamarchive]

KRASNYY.     she can remember when such a word meant  BEAUTIFUL.     she can remember how heavy with blood it had become on her tongue when she first meant it as  RED.    & now,    so many years later,    her eyes bearing the weight of years in their gaze,    she stands bleeding both  BEAUTY & CRIMSON,     just as the square wears both   -----   as it always has.     SHE  WONDERS  IF  HE  REMEMBERS,    TOO   ...   if he remembers what it was to be raised on revolution.

❝  YOU  MUST  THINK  ME  A  TRAITOR. ❞     the humor that curls her lips likewise curves the pain that beats brashly against her breast.     how many times have you dreamed of this,    WIDOW ?     how many times has the ghost of the guardian accused you of  BETRAYAL ?      ❝    i would not blame you if you did.    ❞

 ❝ KRASNYY KVADRAT.   @vozvrate

[viduamor-moved]

❛ you cold, unimaginable thing. ❜

WOLF - WOMAN  /  WINTER - WOMAN.   she wears a smile like  KNIVES,     teeth glimmering in the shadow - brume that envelops them.      ❝     &  did you not  FOLLOW  this  cold,    unimaginable thing ?      ❞      a hand wrapped in  ICE  dares itself to thaw as it graces her lover’s cheek,     traversing the angle of bone & jaw.        her smile does waver for barely a moment,     for the coming & passing of a blizzard on land far above the smothering security of nav,      & morena leans close    ------------    cool kisses trailed along the path her fingers had just left.      ❝      do you not pine for her kisses ?     ❞     whispers,     whispers,     winning over the burning heart of a  WAIF  in her foreign land.      OH,  HE  IS  THE SUN,     & he is drowned in her waters,     frozen over ‘til he would steal her heart again.

WARSAN & MELANCHOLY.      not accepting.