How romantic it is outdoors, large snowflakes covering the whole of Brooklyn. I exited the train on Bleaker Street and walked for a long while toward a store at the corner of Green Street. At no. 1876 I stopped for a brief moment. I looked at the windows on the second floor. The lights were out. It was impossible not to remember her and that long gone winter which we spent together there, on the second floor of no. 1876. She used to switch on all the lights in that small apartment, and at night, when I came back from work, she would make pancakes. The whole apartment would be filled with a beautiful warmth and scent, with light and love.
Our dog Mita would lie lazily in the armchair, and she and I would sit on the couch, eating sweet-scented, warm treats. At such times she would snuggle close to me and would kiss me on the cheek. "Hay, Painter, tell me one of your adventures," she asked with a great big smile, looking at me with large, cheerful eyes that I could never say no to. "I will, Sonia," I would tell her and would put my right arm around her, while with the other, I caressed her hair which smelled of strawberry scented shampoo. Who knows the things I told her, the lies I uttered that winter, but I remember looking through the window and seeing the same large, light snowflakes like the ones tonight. She laughed merrily, brought more pancakes and something to drink, called me Painter and loved me that entire, damn long Brooklyn winter, with the large snowflakes and howling winds that whistle through the small yards nestled amid gray buildings. The dog would stir occasionally in the armchair and would bark a few times, giving greater charm and beauty to this warm and fragrant idyll.
We parted ways in spring, when many new loves bloomed anew – it seems that the number of people in love must be constant, and some love affairs need to be snuffed out for others to flower – I often thought about it, consoling myself that spring when Sonia went to live with her family in Minnesota. Now the lights in the apartment are off, and there are no curtains, no dog, no warmth, just the large snowflakes persistently falling and taking me back...
Stiff with the cold and the melancholy, I picked up pace and entered the shadows of a nearby bar, and then I turned once more and looked at the dark windows on the second floor. "Sonia!" I hollered, not knowing why, and two drunks came out of the bar, looked at me in surprise, and muttered: "Nutcase," as they waved their hands