YOU WROTE ME A LETTER WITH NOTHING INSIDE IT

In the age of emails, regular mail and handwritten notes become something of a sacred object. If a person put enough effort to hand-write now it means a great deal.

When I need to figure out my thoughts, I write. Not in a blog but on a paper. And I feel how poisonous thoughts, diluting veins from inside, leave the body, with only slight long-awaited feeling of emptiness and smell of cedar oil with mint.

In a last week I received a hand-written letter and wrote one myself, this didn’t happen for a while.

It took me 2 hours to write what was left unsaid. Mission was completed. Now it’s time to read the monologue out loud in front of an audience.

You could hear the uncertain trembling voice of the author from the scene.

Without any experience of public speaking, the actor felt absurdly but kept on reading. Until you put the text through-out yourself it has no life. The hardest yet most important is to survive until the last full stop.

Everything was said. Monologue was over. Silence was ringing it the hall of the theater. Everything stood still, only tiny particles of dust were slowly swirling in the bright lights of projectors.

Actor’s hearth was jumping of out his chest. It was so loud it was impossible to hear own thoughts.

” What now? “

Silence was pressing on. Pause was way to long. Actor, blinded by the projectors, was trying to understand what was happening.

No movement in the audience.

Projectors light switched off with a loud click. Actor tried to look into the faces of the audience to understand their reaction.

Rows of red velvet chairs were empty. He was the only one there.

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