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Anna Maria Sergeiv
23 December 2005 @ 10:22 pm
Another quiet Christmas in the house with Annoushka, as we had every year. And then perhaps a stroll around the city of London.

You're all welcome to the house. We'll have dinner ready.
 
 
Anna Maria Sergeiv
Annoushka, she--

She didn't cry. She never cried.

She didn't know what to be afraid of. She'd only seen darkness all her life.

But she saw it.

Oh God. I don't know why I am so upset about this.

[ London Seals ]

...I guess I'll be joining you.
 
 
Anna Maria Sergeiv
10 December 2005 @ 11:20 pm
Oh God.

Oh God, this is not happening. I don't... Why...

Why must we be here? God damn you. I can't... I can't put Annoushka in this. I won't.

I...
 
 
Anna Maria Sergeiv
31 October 2005 @ 01:29 am
It's certainly amusing to know that when things are boisterous, you wish they'd quiet down.

But when they do, you wish you know what was wrong.

...It's like living in a limbo.

[ filter: Russian ]

I asked myself again and again why I won't leave this community. I don't want to get Annoushka involved.

But how do you walk away if you feel wrong... walking away?
 
 
Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Aqualung - Tongue Tied
 
 
Anna Maria Sergeiv
23 October 2005 @ 03:43 pm
London will rain tonight.


[ filter: Russian ]

Annoushka said she saw 'pointy triangles' in her dreams. If I were to guess, that would be Cairo, Egypt. She said the dream hurts her eyes.

I wonder if she was talking about the sun.

The child has never seen the sun all her life.

...
 
 
Anna Maria Sergeiv
21 October 2005 @ 11:33 pm
My name is Anna Marianka, I currently reside in London.

...I am neither Seal nor an Angel. I don't see the future through my dreams, and I will not give birth to sacred weapons.

I just control the weather some days. And the circulation of most nonfiction books in London, I reckon.

Pleased to make acquaintance.

[ filter: Locked to Sir Inglesworth ]

...I received two invitations.

Can we leave Annoushka out of this?


[filter: Private. Russian. ]

...Annoushka walked up to me this morning, without stumbling. Despite the nonexistence of her vision. Usually that could only mean one thing.

She tugged at my skirt and spoke in her broken, 4-years-old tongue.

"Mama, I dreamed."

"I dreamed for Rome."