The Winter Lord
35 min.
Description
He comes with the first snow. In the deep night, when the city is already asleep.
I didn’t sleep. I was waiting. Sitting by the window, wrapped up against the cold in an oversized sweater with a wide collar, and warming in my hands a cup of long-cold coffee that I never even took a sip of during all those hours.
He never liked the taste of this drink on my lips, even though he touched them only once—burning me with cold. We didn’t allow such experiments again. But I remembered… And now, every night, though I made coffee, I never touched it. Why did I make it then? Probably out of contrariness. For whom? Probably for myself. After all, he didn’t come closer. And I was… sorry?
I didn’t sleep. I was waiting. Sitting by the window, wrapped up against the cold in an oversized sweater with a wide collar, and warming in my hands a cup of long-cold coffee that I never even took a sip of during all those hours.
He never liked the taste of this drink on my lips, even though he touched them only once—burning me with cold. We didn’t allow such experiments again. But I remembered… And now, every night, though I made coffee, I never touched it. Why did I make it then? Probably out of contrariness. For whom? Probably for myself. After all, he didn’t come closer. And I was… sorry?
