Machine

One person can love a machine? I did it. Gears...They have rhythmic moves. Dark brown colour, gives the papers to the press. Ever same moves, carefree.

One guy nearby, makes it control with his hand. Machine is working honestly non-stop.

It was a press machine... I watched it with wondered eyes; That spectre witched me. In the dark evening near the shop Machine is working like a carefree snob.

I was watching, but in other hand My eyes are looking around worried; People who sees me can think about me, crazy. Finally I went away. I was going there almost every day.

Like eternal rhythmic voices, can it turn to the human? Could be a miracle, if I love it enough level? More and more I am attached to it. My spirit slowly turned to the machine.

One day in the dusk One guy in the park, he was watching me with evil looks. I went away inside a pain.

Can it turn to the human? If I give it my soul...

Many days I didn't go there, I couldn't. But still machine is in my brain, finally I decided to see it again.

Around of atelier, there was a large building land; Trashes, stuff that doesn't work anymore... My God, there! Machine!

No way, no....such a silent, static. Then I understood that, I was a miserable romantic.

But that's real that, It never says a lie. Over it a few drops, does it cry?

My God, can I bring it back with my pray?

After a few minutes, rain got speed. Hopeless, I left it.