Book: Wonderland without brakes and end of the world. Page 2

The rain that falls from the sky, always reaches the ground. Real rain can't stop anyone. And no one can escape it. Rain always gives everything in all fairness.

Sometimes, you do everything you need, and why they did so - I understand much later. And sometimes you know, as needed, only when there was nothing to fix.

My memory crushed into a pancake pneumatic press, just an old car. She, my memory, was similar to the ordinary credit card. Look at it from the front - looks slightly unnatural. And look at the side - just a meaningless record. On the one hand, it holds my whole life. On the other - just a credit card. And while uncounted of its special machine, it is not any good.

See, that's how people. Being in the dark, just looking for the moon and the stars.

With age harder to believe, I replied. - Like to chew on worn-out teeth. My teeth did not become cynical or malodushie. They just faded away.

Perhaps it's all in the metaphors, we need to make it easier to look at life.

B my life are those who want and who wants out, but there are General rules for all guests entering - wipe your feet, leaving - close the door behind her.

On my door, I said to myself. Let cheap, even crap. But the door remains a door, and this, really, means something.

Nothing to do, guys. Whenever I meet a nervous type, so tempted to test his nerves for lice.

When something is taking apart, always start with the most valuable. So it should be.

- And what is scary to tired?
Is when different parts of your life become incomprehensible to me. Beginning to feel sorry for yourself and angry at others. And for this reason - to be angry with yourself and feeling sorry for others... sounds about right.
Hmm... neither one Nor the other do not understand.
- That's right, in the end you cease to understand what was happening. Just scroll before the eyes of frames, and each has a different color. The faster they run, the more porridge in your head. And then the Chaos begins.

We meet every day. When I read in the library hall of the old dreams, she's always sitting next to. Then we have dinner together, drink something hot, and I escorted her home. On the way, about something we talk. She tells me how she lived with her father and younger sisters.
But every time we say goodbye, I feel this sense of Loss in me grows like a bottomless pit. Day after day I lose something in itself - and nothing can do about it. Too deep and gloomy a well. How it may bury her. There's probably something with my lost memory, I think. My faded memories of something ask me, but I can't restore them. Disorder with an emotional all the intolerable - I think, it will never be saved. But this problem I now still not resolved. I'm too fragile and insecure.
I shake out of my head every single thought and immerse the empty consciousness in sleep.

Sometimes it happens to me: someone forgets about my existence.

(...) fear keeps a person better than any of the walls.