the myths

...and if life consists of myths, let this be one of them, the myth of ultimate love. My childhood, my mother; just tell me how a weak woman could have cast such a powerful spell on me as my mother has done, and I am not an easy prey, I'm telling you. I have been going rounds about it my whole life. She is a genius, she is the only one. No matter what "reality" is, no matter the science of psychology, I refuse to believe that crap; I believe only in her, in the truth of the Never Land, an eternal childhood, for that what she has been for me, never mind the rest of our lives, the "reality" that dawned on all of us later including my brother's death... who cares, for my mother has been able to provide that fairytale of a childhood that no one besides us have known. There is no a greater artist in this world than my mother, Zoya Drozdova born Vlasova, and I am writing these words while she is still alive!