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When I forget all of you.

When I forget all of you. Someday you will calm down. Having ceased to search and find, you will turn your eyes on a narrow strip of light in the shade of the oak forest of your hair, move your hand apart and gently release the falling branches on the tilled field of your light presentation. Someone said you need to be happy and cheerful. Perhaps it is. You tried so hard all this time to be within your own understanding that you stopped noticing yourself in yourself. Glance fell heavy burden on meeting buried under the shadow of a doubt. “To be or not to be,” is not a question, it is a state of your soul. How hard the thought strides through the corridors of the mind, how morale shoes crush her, what a sticky and nasty floor in the corridor of power, how you want to get out of here through the window. Sorry, sorry, very sorry. The candle, pouring in sweat, cooled, revealing the essence of the wax in its desire to slide down the sloping one. The light of reason went out long ago in the fire of the Inquisition, and the ashes scattered through the cities, bringing with them the gray dust of uniformly distributed rabies.Something makes you angry, and this something does not give in to criticism, you uselessly heat a glass of martini with your eyes and imagine magic fairy tales with a happy ending. There is good and evil, and in your understanding these are different things. How can one be confused with another? Perplexity, anger, protest, excitement, fear. To unravel the tangle of threads, this is what you want, you make a lot of effort, pull on the free end, tighten the knot even more, not realizing that the untangled thread will then again want to be tied into a knot and for a long time to admire it. You run from what you want, wherever you don't want. And why did you decide that this way you decide at all? Do give a prize for escape from life? Running into the next virtual reality, you are still connected to the same provider. Your fear is so long with you that he remembers you much better than you do, and politely reminds you of yourself in moments of passionate living love fever. When you are shaking with a chill of disgust at not being able to say “love”, you stand alone, leaning on the wind blowing from the north. You think that it is all of them, it is they who are to blame for everything, this world is so cruel and indifferent to you.Your fear holds you tightly by your shoulders, you are all shaking and crying, and no one feels it. Love. She can be so strange and offensive, so little is poured into the cafe. The smell of the fan envelops you with dreams of the tender sensuality of your neighbor, touches the issues that are inconvenient to discuss, blows ashes from the ears, and you wait and believe. Faith replaces love during her maternity leave to care for the fear of death. You don’t have a relationship of trust with her, she trusts you herself, and you expect another. That's how we live. There is nothing to see, vanity is all around, movement is life, to the left is around the corner, morning is good, and so on without end and without an edge. And you just want to calm down. Moving faster and faster, you reach the bed and fall unconscious, catching the dust on the pillow by surprise. Love is everywhere, she loves you, and you? And you just live and want to feel it again as then, at that moment that you forgot, and continue to actively forget. Running away from your memory into the body, burrowing into streams of hot fantasy, you save your scant memories of love in other people, giving them grains of gold while they sleep.And then you look at them and cry. Crying because you do not remember anything. You want to remember nothing.

 

Someday you will calm down. Having ceased to search and find, you will turn your eyes on a narrow strip of light in the shade of the oak forest of your hair, move your hand apart and gently release the falling branches on the tilted field of your doomsday. Someone said you need to be happy and cheerful.

Perhaps it is. You tried so hard all this time to be within your own understanding that you stopped noticing yourself in yourself. Glance fell heavy burden on meeting buried under the shadow of a doubt. “To be or not to be,” is not a question, it is a state of your soul. How hard the thought strides through the corridors of the mind, how morale shoes crush her, what a sticky and nasty floor in the corridor of power, how you want to get out of here through the window. Sorry, sorry, very sorry.

The candle, pouring in sweat, cooled, revealing the essence of the wax in its desire to slide down the sloping one. The light of reason went out long ago in the fire of the Inquisition, and the ashes scattered through the cities, bringing with them the gray dust of uniformly distributed rabies. Something makes you angry, and this is something that cannot be criticized,you uselessly heat a martini glass and imagine magic fairy tales with a happy ending. There is good and evil, and in your understanding these are different things.

How can one be confused with another?

Perplexity, anger, protest, excitement, fear. To unravel the tangle of threads, this is what you want, you make a lot of effort, pull on the free end, tighten the knot even more, not realizing that the untangled thread will then again want to be tied into a knot and for a long time to admire it. You run from what you want, wherever you don't want. And why did you decide that this way you decide at all? Do give a prize for escape from life? Running into the next virtual reality, you are still connected to the same provider. Your fear is so long with you that he remembers you much better than you do, and politely reminds you of yourself in moments of passionate living love fever.

When you are shaking with a chill of disgust at not being able to say “love”, you stand alone, leaning on the wind blowing from the north. You think that it is all of them, it is they who are to blame for everything, this world is so cruel and indifferent to you. Your fear holds you tightly by your shoulders, you are all shaking and crying, and no one feels it. Love. She can be so strange and offensive, so little is poured into the cafe.The smell of the fan envelops you with dreams of the tender sensuality of your neighbor, touches the issues that are inconvenient to discuss, blows ashes from the ears, and you wait and believe.

Faith replaces love during her maternity leave to care for the fear of death. You don’t have a relationship of trust with her, she trusts you herself, and you expect another. That's how we live. There is nothing to see, vanity is all around, movement is life, to the left is around the corner, morning is good, and so on without end and without an edge. And you just want to calm down. Moving faster and faster, you reach the bed and fall unconscious, catching the dust on the pillow by surprise.

Love is everywhere, she loves you, and you?

And you just live and want to feel it again as then, at that moment that you forgot, and continue to actively forget. Running away from your memory into the body, burrowing into streams of hot fantasy, you save your scant memories of love in other people, giving them grains of gold while they sleep.

And then you look at them and cry.

Crying because you do not remember anything.

You want to remember nothing.

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