Безымянный

Hope you'll never guess it's about you ok.
I saw a film this Monday. A married couple had a happy life, then a husband had a stroke. He could neither speak nor walk properly. Financial challenges, tragedies, end of every hope. That's reality.
Now cut off the reality, it's the hypothetical literary world (you're a kind of literary personage these days as well, aren't you? thank God, I see this rupture) without sickness-accompanying difficulties. Or maybe it would still work with them, it doesn't matter. I've thought: if I was another person, not completely different, not too different, just something little is missing here - if I was another person, if we were maybe quite close and if something bad happened to you*, it would be such a good opportunity to keep you here with me. "Оля болеет, Лёля её врачует. Оля встаёт и ходит, Лёля ног под собой не чует." So you'd stay here. But no, I'm not like this, and I'd never do such a thing to you, and I'm religious, etc etc. Still, it would have been so beautiful. You know, before I became myself, I was a girl, a very possessive girl.

"- What d'ye leave to your true-love, my handsome young man?
- I leave her hell and fire; mother mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down."

*please no.

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