I am on such a dangerous road, Milena. You are standing fast by a tree, young, beautiful, your eyes are subduing the sorrows of the world with their brightness. We’re playing škatule škatule hejbejte se,*3 I’m creeping in the shade from one tree to the next, I’m halfway there, you call to me, pointing out the dangers, wanting to encourage me, you’re scared by my faltering step, you remind me (me!) how serious the game is—I can’t make it, I fall down, already prostrate. I can’t listen both to the terrible inner voices and to you simultaneously, but I can listen to what the voices are saying and
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