Family man

You're walking through a chilly evening city, feeling the weight of a day's work and unlearned lectures on your shoulders. Fatigue has eaten into your bones, the wind is sapping your last strength. The hum of servers fills your ears, lines of code fill your eyes. The crimson rays of sunset cling to the spires of high-rise buildings, refusing to yield to the night.

At the crosswalk, you mechanically press the traffic light button. Thoughts of an unfinished project and a cup of tea at home. The light turns green—and a Kamaz, its brakes failing, bursts out of the twilight. Its blind headlights fill the entire space.

You're frozen in paralysis before the rushing mass. Time slows. But a mighty gust of wind throws you onto the asphalt. The truck roars past, inches away, stealing your breath and your speech.

Your heart pounds in your throat. You look up and see Him.

A figure of moonlight and gloom. Long white hair fluttering in the wind. A shining crescent moon on his left temple. You've always felt his invisible presence. Family Man. Your Archangel.

"Phew, I made it..." his voice was like the rustling of leaves. "That fool..."

His gaze meets yours—and freezes. He sees you looking at him, seeing him. Astonishment gives way to panic. You see his features tremble, his unwavering body waver.

And then he falls to his knees. His white hair obscures his face, his shoulders tremble. He looks not like an all-powerful celestial being, but like a frightened youth.

The wind dies down. Silence falls. You lie on the cold ground, and two steps away sits your secret miracle, broken by being seen.

Is it possible to learn to breathe again once you have seen the breath itself?

TGK https://t.me/lgdwl48cN8E1ZmQy