SUNDAY MORNING MAGIC

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On a Sunday, at this time, the girls from the neighbourhood, living a step above the city…, they wake up impossibly early. They are not woken up by the lack of noise in the streets on a Sunday… No, no, no! They are too special… You don’t trust me?! No, I cannot take you to their places – to each of them, at her own house… on a Sunday?! Impossible! You don’t spoil Sunday morning magic just like that!

The first one wakes up from the silence of everyone else in the house… She gets up before them, tiptoes past their bedrooms, makes herself some coffee, wrapped in her older child’s blanket, and opens the window widely… There, on the terrace, she smokes thoughtfully and thanks herself – alone to herself – how much love she has given, how much care they have taken from her, how much more she has to love. And how much more they have to love her, hopefully! In these thirty minutes her whole world sleeps off a little bit from the past week and she strolls alone with herself above the city… through her neighbourhood – one step up. Almost in the clouds…

The other one wakes up, unclearly why, at 5… Yes, on a Sunday – at 5! Stop staring!… She has been fighting witches and ghosts all week – in the school and under the bed, having been late for work once and having stayed late once, not having finished her wine because of exhaustion and not having resisted that recklessly expensive scarf… Having loved madly and to the fullest… You will never know whom! Nor how to love exactly this way – her way! Today, she wakes up at five in order to have a rest from the screaming and shouting of all those wanting and giving in her life. Two hours on her own with her last coffee for the week – so that it could wash away the sweetness of the chocolate, eaten audaciously in front of the mirror, and to make the bitterness of the wine – that unfinished wine – even more bitter… Two hours on her own with her coffee… Leave her! – she has stopped her own time for a while – so that it could breathe freely – relaxed peacefully on the balcony – in a neighbourhood, hanging one step above the city.

And the third one – myself, the princess of sleepless weekdays, who on a Saturday night sleeps like a baby. I am woken up by the story in my head – by the coolness coming from the window, left open… I find my sheets of paper and my pencils – left on the table, by the coffee… I find my thoughts there, gathered after all that incredible sleeplessness, incredible naivety – that… we truly live one step above the city, almost in the clouds.

We truly are a bit different, a bit crazier in our ideals, subject to the conviction that we have no week-to-week life.
Bolder in getting tired – each, the way she likes it, or the way it is imposed on her by those whom she loves… Each, it is incredible that she survives – after a week in her life, which, if you yourself live, trust me, you will tell yourself, “These people live in hell…” Or in heaven.

Don’t you even try to persuade us that life is routine and only vaguely adventurous – and hardly ever so! You are not going to make it work this way – neither the boredom, nor the tease! Go out on a Sunday morning, at the same time, and try to climb a step up in order to see how the girls from the neighbourhood, built a step above the city, wake up…

Can’t you?

Shall I give you a ladder?

As long as you are not afraid of heights…

Text: Eva Koleva

Photo: Press

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