black&white

I'd like to tell You (yes, the as vague as non-existent You) about J.
J. is two years older than me and has very bright hair, the brightest hair I've ever seen. Her skin – perfectly smooth, as if made of marble. She's of medium height. Sometimes she puts on a soft cotton dress and then she looks just like a child. A baby girl.
J. was born two weeks before a Christmas and she's all the essence of the Advent. Special and festive. Smelling nice. One feels like being next to her not because of some social splendor or not even to kill the time by means of some small conversation – it's for the warm silence that's inside J. Or for the sense of beauty being protected, the sort of beauty that is tiny and unique, wrapped around with large, soft cloth. A little candle, a December night. J.
J. loves Sweden – a country, where the Advent is the best time of year, with the Saint Lucy's Day (December 13) as the apogee. The smell of saffron and gingerbread, early nightfalls and the beautiful woman. Red wine a year ago when we celebrated her birthday. (Like it usually happens in case of females I admire, I didn't like her boyfriend at all.)
J. Winter, wind, see. A little cottage with purple heathers on the windowsill; warm, subdued light. The spices aroma mixing with the smell of warmed body.
J. The baby girl.
There's also G. A totally different one, and less familiar to me so I don't know her smells and colors yet. Anyway, she has dark, thick hair that I always stare at. And dark eyes. Low voice that she rarely uses, and if she does, then it's only to say few words.
G. was sketched with bright, simple lines, marked carefully, stable. She's devoid of the silly part of femininity – of the not-being-able-to, of the embarrassing infantilism and the cosmetic obsession. And at the same time she picks very cautiously the colors for herself; they're always deep and intense; clear and vivid.
Actually, G. is a mystery to me – I don't know where she comes from and I don't seem to recognize her form. But it is a surely blissful state to smoke cigarettes with my head on her shoulder in some Warsaw club. Very nice indeed.
G. doesn't care much, I guess.
G. seems very strong.
G. embarrasses me, sometimes frightens a little.
G. and J. like each other a lot.
And me? Today I almost burst into tears (into the inside, not the outside of my body) during our classes whose main theme was the marriage. Me – totally alone and lonely. My father sometimes-probably-maybe feeling like leaving my mother. Sure, go on asking me about marriage. About love and warmth. And then about breathing deep and feeling free.
After all, "the most tangible description of bread is a description of hunger".

P.s. I just found out that from the Saint Lucy’s Day on the Sun sets later and later – yet it begins to rise earlier only from the December 22 and that's why it is when we talk of the days growing longer. But still, December 13 is the omen of the bright part of the year. Just look at J.'s hair!