P A T R O N E

Ako tvrdoglavost pobedi ljubav, onda to ona i nije bila, pomislila je tvrdoglavo rešena da mu se više nikad ne javi. On neće, to je znala. Više ga je volela, bar je mislila tako, jer kako bi se moglo inače utvrditi koliko ko voli.

Kad bi izumeli ljubavni holter, pa da bude precizno, ovako kako da zna. Eto, ona ga voli toliko, ali mu neće priznati po cenu života. I kako on može da zna? Koliko li je ljubavi tako nestalo, a možda su mogle da se razviju i postanu prave.

Ipak je odlučila. Napisaće mu pismo. Tvrdoglavila se nepun sat. Toliko o karakteru koji joj je postao prema njemu mekan kao puding. Ne e-mail, pismo pravo pravcijato, i to perom na mirišljavom papiru. Totalno hipsterski, sa pesmom. Ne, bolje da celo pismo bude pesma.  Ako to ne pomogne, e onda ništa.

Uzela je pero, i onda shvatila da je na patrone. Samo da li ih uopšte više proizvode? Potražiće po knjižarama sutra. Ukoliko ih ne nađe, onda će prekosutra kupiti pero. Tražiće Pelikan i teget mastilo. Ako ne nađe, nakosutra će pokušati da… A do tad, možda će se desiti čudo.

I N K

If stubbornness wins over love, than it won’t be really love – she was thinking inside, convinced not to call him ever again. He won’t call, so far she knew. She loved him more, or at least she believed it was the case. Otherwise, how you could ever measure the love?

If you could only invent a love Holter*and measure precisely… but like this, who would know?! There, she loves him so much but she won’t admit it no matter what. And then how he could ever know? How many love stories have been lost that way and they could have become the great loves.

Yet, she has decided. She will write him a letter. She was making up her mind for almost an hour. There, it is clear now that her character toward him became soft as a pudding. And hey, she won’t send him an email, but the real old-fashioned letter, written with a pen on the perfumed paper. It will be so hipster, hah, even with the song. No, no, it will be even better if the whole letter is a song. If that doesn’t help, nothing will.

She took a pen and only then realized she doesn’t have ink capsules. Wait, are they even still producing them today? She will ask in the stores tomorrow. If she doesn’t find ink capsules, than she will buy a new pen. She will ask for “Pelikan” and dark blue ink. And if she doesn’t find, after tomorrow she will try to… And until then, well, a miracle might happen.

E N C R E

Si l’obstination triomphe de l’amour, alors cela n’est pas de l’amour. Pensa-t-elle avec entêtement, décidée à ne plus lui parler. Lui ne le fera pas, et elle le savait. Elle l’aimait davantage, c’’est ce qu’elle pensait, sinon comment prouver qui aime le plus l’autre ?

Si seulement on pouvait inventer un Holter de l’amour précis. Comment savoir maintenant ? Voilà, elle l’aimait tellement, mais ne lui avouera jamais, c’était une question de vie ou de mort. Et comment le saurait-il ? Combien d’histoires d’amour finissaient ainsi alors qu’elles auraient pu vraiment s’épanouir.

Elle avait malgré tout décidé de lui écrire une lettre. Cette idée la tarauda u peu moins d’une heure. Elle s’était ramollie comme un pudding à son égard. Pas un email, une lettre, une vraie, écrite à la plume sur du papier parfumé. Totalement démodée avec un poème. Non, toute une lettre en poème. Si cela n’aide pas, alors rien ne le fera.

Elle prit sa plume, et constata qu’elle n’avait plus d’encre. Est-ce qu’on la fabriquait toujours ? Demain, elle ira en chercher dans une quelconque librairie. Sinon, elle achètera un nouveau stylo plume. Elle prendra un Pelikan avec des cartouches bleues. Si elle ne trouve pas, elle essaiera le surlendemain de… Et d’ici-là, un miracle aura peut-être eu lieu.

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