Rujanska kupačica

Some loves hurt to the end of the world: lovers' loves, friends' loves, blood loves. So what to base your existence on? On unreliable lovers? A childhood with permanent "disruptions" in an idyllic landscape? An unstable faith in yourself? All that remains is to hide the fact that you are on the edge - of hatred, disgust, nerves, money - because until you admit it, nothing has happened. Everything is the same as before, drunks fall off tractors, loves are betrayed, the dead are silent. In the end, you throw off the niche they are pushing you into, kick yourself, crawl out of the bushes, shake off your dress and walk with your head held high towards - whatever. They have already betrayed you, they have already humiliated you, they have already disliked you... Intensely experienced moments and selected incidentals remain forever, even if it is just one scattered life. The author subtly shapes it with the vocabulary of ancestors and contemporaries, the curse of space and time.