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To the Unborn

 

 

I often think of you.     What would you be like. . .

 

Here you are sitting at the table in front of me. . .        blonde hair to the shoulders. . .

 

You lowered down the eyes – you draw something. . .     Your eyes will be like mine – gray. . . With rays, as She says. . .

She stands behind me and looks at you as well. . .

 

It was supposed to be like this. . .     It won’t be like this. . .      Never. . .

 

 

She always thinks of you, too. . .    your mother. . .   .

The one who was supposed to be your mother. . .    My beloved. . .

 

 

 

We already know how it will be.

They’ll break in our house at night and beat me to death. . .     Her. . .     . . .

 

 

We try not to think about it. . .           So the days pass. . .

It’s winter. .        It’s cold. . .

We sit huddled together and wait. . .  .

 

 

 

The thoughts of These hang around like a gray veil. . .      .        they can be seen      these thoughts. . .    .

 

 

At night, when she falls asleep on my chest, I can start thinking about you again. . .

What you should be. . .    . . .      .

 

 

You won’t be born here, but you must be born anyway. . .         Let the other parents have you. . 

But you will still be my son. . .          The body is different. . .   . .          and the thoughts will be mine. . . 

I know. . .    .       So it will be. . .        .    . . . . . . . .

 

She doesn’t think so. . .   I can hear her thoughts, even though she hides them. . .    . . .

 

Let it be so. . .     . .     It doesn’t matter how. .           If only you would come. . .        And They’re afraid of it. . . 

That’s probably why they don’t come for so long. . .          They are circling near the house. . . 

Almost every day. . .          They are afraid to approach the border. .    . .

The border melts gradually. . .        They’ll break through soon. . .

 

 

 

I have to tell you something important. . .           The most important thing in my life. . .

And in yours. . .

If you’re ever be born. . .   .

 

Don’t give up. . .  . . .    .

 

 

 

I would like to tell and explain a lot. . .             But this way they’ll find you quickly. .   . .

 

I’ll keep it simple – DON’T GIVE UP. .      . .

You’ll understand when you are an adult. . .

 

 

 

You’re my son,     aren’t you? . .    . .

 

 

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