And No Roses for Ivana

eys, all of which were thrown into the bottom of her damn fortress. She was ready to bash the towers of this fortress with her head, to knit a rope out of her hairs and to let herself down to him, to hug him in front of all the people on the small street and to tell him how long she had waited, how much she had dreamed this Ivan, how much she wants, really wants him to be the father of her children…

But when she looked up, he was gone. The September wind was chasing her projects on the sidewalk and they were blending in with the weary yellow leaves of the trees, with the dust, with the fags and with the pieces of tin-foil from the chocolates of the kids playing in the park across the street.