About the injury

Well, now at least prepare a shroud for her.

I laugh through my tears and cry for no reason.

Her blood was frozen with eternal cold and ice

From the fear of living and from the premonition of death.

V. Vysotsky

We’re not angels, boy.

No, we are not angels.

Dark creatures and the planks are torn off, but

If they ask us what we would like,

We would take off, we would take off.

***

There is no love or trust for such people -

People look for feathers.

A. Ponamarev

Trauma locks the soul in a castle of fear, stopping the free flow of life, creativity, and play.

Trauma encapsulates. It’s like you freeze, fall asleep, freeze. You look through your icy cocoon at others and cannot reach them. It’s like you’re cut off from the whole world and endlessly alone.

Trauma splits. Divides the world into deep black and perfect white. All others in it are correct, successful, effective. You’re the only one who’s different. Strange, it was not known why, it was born, an absurdity.

Trauma gives rise to the desire to become an angel. Ideal. And it pulls the rug out from under you every time the perfection is spoiled by specks of ordinary human mistakes.