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       My father taught me to worship patina - "it's not dirt: it's your touches -
this is not a hole: Lena    - it's an opportunity for a beautiful original patch -
objects are not born with souls like people       - objects acquire a soul through
everyday use.." :he claimed stroking the wooden arms of his favorite chair:  "this
world is full of sad things:  which are doomed to end up soulless."  :he muttered
as he sipped coffee from his sixty year old mug.
       While he was alive: I didn't listen to him very much    - I was interested:
like most people: in nice and new things - and if eccentricities  - only according
to the latest fashion. But when he died: I put on his wool sweater: I hid my hands
in its sleeves and hugged myself -  "and people lose their souls by living without
love:" I added.

       That vile monster robbed me of my love:  and condemned me to a life without
a soul: so I killed him for it with those black office scissors   - I plunged them
into his heart: as soon as I ran into the archive    - I jumped on him and stabbed
him - and once more - and deeply.  And I added a little red patina to the strap of
my watch.
 
       But  - when I pulled him out from under the lamp to look at his disgraceful
dying - and saw the incredible peace in the warm smile on his face - I understood:
that I had satisfied him in everything.
       He invented and planned it all - and I made it happen.
       He had probably been conscious for a good few minutes:  and was waiting for
me       - the green message "transfer completed successfully" was flashing on the
screen.
       His fading eyes whispered: "maybe next time baby.."
       I set up a new proces with my parameters:  I pushed his dead body under the
shelf with my feet and lay down in his place.
       Before I was lost in the kingdom of dreams and miracles    - I thought: how
to kill a genie painfully   - and just simply to delete him seemed most inadequate
to me.