A letter to Sasho Morfov that cries to be read, or otherwise known as the 'crying letter'

     Let’s start with a recipe. We take roots of different words and boil them in three equal parts. After that we throw away the water that we’ve boiled them in and along with it we also throw away the roots of the words Hate, Obvious, Ordinary, Approximately. We spit three times in our bossom to calm down. The snake does the same, or that makes a total of six spits. After we’re done with the pits we lay in them and start dreaming of inventing anything we wish. And suddenly, here comes the gold fish of poormen and says: You have the right to three Passports.

     We invent a waiting game, we are now waiting for God-knows-who. But he’s already been here and the most terrifying of all would be if he has now left.

     Arrival (landing) is not a function of waiting, it’s a synonim. Waiting is a subjective desire while arrival is something of the scale of God-knows-who, it is an obejctive value (because God-knows-who is an object).There is another option. God-knows-who came once but nobody believed it was him and they even managed to convince him that he is not him. So thus, he joined the waiting. He was so convinced that he even started thinking: When will I arrive? I don’t mind waiting for myself to arrive. But I’m really busy. If I can spare some time from all this waiting I might as well arrive.

     But I know that if I just stay and listen to the grass moving, someone is certainly about to arrive. Whether it's ME, the wind or the fox of the little prince – it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s the grass itself. 

     If I wait long enough,

     I might even welcome myself…

     And recognise myself.

     And that will be the moment

     When I’ll escape

     In panic

     Or

     I’ll simply

     Wake up.

~ Ludmil Stanev