Ava Claire Harris. The Sea Worries Time (№ 381812)

The pain is circling above us, flashing a light in the window lost, complaining. Pain sings prettier than all of us combined, and spread across the world great rains of tears. The pain it like a moth, a thousand colorful umbrellas-flowers or shabby coat. She is a human. The same is alive and talkative, everything goes and goes along, and whispers that clear. But it's worth a try to figure it out or scream, that is urine, pain-man falls silent and it seems that she really feel sorry for you. Only so can not be. The pain becomes stronger, it feeds on tears and bitterness, it is not going away, quite the contrary. The pain grips you more and more, twists and all loitering and loitering.