remained floated in the workshop. He found this place

a few years ago. Well, as soon as I found it, you can see it right away.

There was little creativity or inspiration in his area

,and this kind of energy was always attractive.

Against the gray background of everyday life, this island simply shone

a bluish alluring light. This was how he saw the world,

this was how he saw this place. It gave the angel so much strength, so

much faith, that it allowed him to do things that

many of his colleagues would not have dared to do.

He was sated, blissful, and calm, but it was

too early to leave. He was waiting for her. The lock at the top clicked. A girl came into the house

,put her grocery bags on the floor, sat

down on a bench in the hallway and buried her face in the phone. She’s on-

Her hair was unruly, and her long, thin fingers

tapped on the touch screen. The new car was sold

,which was very useful, because soon the rent would be paid,

and there was only money left for food. Reana is a master, Reana is

an artist. But what doesn’t stick together in your own

life? She went into the kitchen, washed the vegetables, and made a

light salad for dinner.

Creativity has always saved. This was her life. All

the failures she «stuck» with creativity. She had it, and

he had her. And nothing else. The profit was always enough

only for the most necessary things. Reana never took out a loan

11

to buy a house. I didn’t start a family either. I met and met many people, but no one stayed long.

Only the best friend remained unchanged,

with which you could get out to hang out somewhere and still

listen to whining about how everyone around you is a bastard and how

expensive everything has become.

Such a strange life, both monotonous and completely

different every day, because every creation that came out

from under her hand was different from others, with its

own character, even copies were somewhat different. And she

liked that. And he liked it. The angel called. Inaudible.

Invisibly. Touching without touching. Today, new

workpieces are being filled in. A play of substances and forms, liquid and solid,

colorless and colored, a boundless field for

phantasms, a flight over a world frozen in its beauty for

eternity.

And she went to work, putting on a light shirt and a work

apron.

And he assisted her. I wish I could say that,

but no. He wasn’t helping, he was present. And it gave

something more. He needed her. Not that slim

and regular figure, not those hands, not that sweet

,kind face with big brown eyes. He needed

her light – that fountain of blue light of creativity,

inspiration, and fantasy. The same delicious light

that permeated the workshop, only stronger, fresher. When

she was away for a long time, or in close contact

with other people, that light faded. It weakened even when

the works sold out well and there was no need to

create new ones. Therefore, he helped as much as he could:

he took unnecessary people away from her, recognition and success. And he

made her happy, creating happiness out of nothing. The artist

must be hungry. Well, even if not quite hungry,

of course, but a certain creativity is

a certain sacrifice.

12

So today we did both. And

they both enjoyed the process, too.

What a wonderful end to the day, an-

gel thought. He felt more powerful than ever, his light

encompassed all corners of his lands, he felt everything,

every being, every blade of grass, every good and evil, and he,

of course, with all his being, wanted every evil

to go out of this world, wanted people to be happy and quiet

life. But sometimes they themselves cause trouble to themselves and others