Peter (№ 59096)

Now the weather is absolutely typical for my city. Morning rain taps loudly on the glass, and this rhythm follows me everywhere: at school, at home, in the car or even on the street when I walk in the hood.
The gray sky wound weird, too indifferent to everything that happens around. The world is becoming too unrealistic, dull, and empty.
Every suck makes me think of something surreal to the world in an instant revived, that eyes were opened, and the mind ceased to give a gloomy picture of the past not happened.
I'm not romantic. No, not at all.
Just when I held my breath, barely audible, repeat the name of your living, but too gray city, I heard:
be patient, be patient, be patient..