...everything will end, like love ends, like sugar, salt, like matches, life and crumbs, like thick novels, like the first snow, like childhood, like love.
Then they will come and take away the furniture, and take out all the things and things, well, a couple or three, maybe, sell them, and they will live in other people's houses, in other people's closets, in other people's favorite summer houses.
It will be over, as if nothing had ever started anywhere, as if nothing had ever gone on, it will be over as if nothing had ever happened.
When it's over, it's as if through the glass you can see those faces again, the notebooks, the books, the lips, the cats, the hands, that chair, those mirrors, but only from a new side of the glass.
It will be over, like snow again, like a footprint in the sand again, like morning, like someone saying, "I'll call you back," and never calling again.
Everything will be again - childhood and love, wormwood and sugar, tea and daisies, and again new attempts, like torture, like mistakes, like love.
Everything will end, everything will end, everything will end... Everything is put on the line again, everything at once, everything at once will end as if there were never anyone anywhere or anything.