Character: Nina. Page 2

When someone belong to the class of believers, then immediately the question arises: "what God do you believe?". It seems to me that a large army of atheists and agnostics, it is useful to ask: "And what God do you not believe?" Some believers, I think, will be surprised. And hardly understand a trick question.

Sense and senselessness of death - it is the sense and senselessness of life. We are insignificant elements of the cosmos, the decay products and denial of existence. We are part of world order and resistance him.
A person ceases to be animal-sapiens, when your mind is able to unravel another mystery of the universe. Or when people adopt the unique and most wonderful of our senses - together-being, or gvoice. When he enjoys something wonderful on the verge of poignancy, and that makes you laugh and cry at the same time. And this all opens to genuine human freedom.

Makes us immortal someone else- anyone whose thoughts we live, who do not give rest. Even now, while I still live, I am not only someone's fantasy? And for those who don't know us and never know we are after death, and life are nothing, but just are not. Those who love us and hates, despises and admires for them we after death will remain those expressed in the purity and the paradoxical nature of image, words and deeds. While there are those whose words, we will be treated as alive or as dead, we are immortal. We will make immortal our children, in whose eyes we certainly know yourself. And after our death someone will recognize us.

Who we are, not as a biological unit, the animals, "biped without feathers"? I will answer your question than we are different from spiders. Spiders don't know what they will eat. Animals unknown to the knowledge of his own death. No knowledge, no idea, no expectation, no anticipation, no denial. This dubious privilege is given to man. It's his, excuse me, specific feature.

Pain is what forces us to push foreign, to make the outside as an alien, I do not belong. And to a certain pain threshold is still possible patience, but once this threshold is overcome, the source of the pain can not be perceived as "mine" as a favorite.

But I still like it. Like some unknown to you to the part of you that you saw through your line between them, the part that felt, falling asleep on your breast, groped between the skin and the echoes of breathing. What a pity that you don't remember, don't want to know this about yourself.
I'm not delusional you shudder, you're not. I look at myself in the mirror and realize that in my eyes you are no more. Maybe if you stop running from yourself and stand with confidence and passion for life and people, I remember that I loved you. And my view will again contain all the meaning that is enclosed in you. And now I'm finally free.

To feel the pain of another, experiencing unbearable guilt, and even a finger not to move, to do something to change the situation... Perhaps this is your happiness and pleasure. The paradox is that only now I began to realize that I'm in love with (was?) not you. And that sweet and touching boy who met windy and Sunny day the twenty-eighth of April. Sorry that you let the light of God solely for the temptation. Is he really? Or exists only as an element of your favorite games? I know I've forgiven you, not one sane woman would not forgive. But I did, because I didn't take you as an adult and Mature person. And this is probably my fault.

- Nietzsche do you love or not love, accept
or not, you still have to accept it. A rare quality for a philosophical system. Where would we be without Nietzsche?

You fell asleep on my lap, and I woke up on your chest. But I don't remember where I fell asleep, and you woke up where. Thus, if we now connect our memories together, it will appear intimidating blank canvas. We sift for atoms. Maybe we just left something to tell each other about the days and nights in black bandages that we pulled over his eyes. I have nowhere else to Wake up, so I
can't sleep anymore. You don't need more reality because there is no place where it can be easy to let go, his nose buried in something alive and warm.
Tell me about a place where there is still space for dreams that will lead me to where I wanted to Wake up with a blissful smile. And I'll tell you about the space without sleep, so you could again find shelter and safely leave the real world. I'll wait for you.
Wait there, where we once lost each other. I don't want your body. I don't want milk from your cups, and purified thee oranges. I want to only eat your words. To go over the precipice, holding on to their thin thread, and maybe one day you will lead me to where I first went blind.

You played the most delicate and strong fingers on all the strings of my soul. You re-wrote the seventh Symphony of Beethoven, fingering the keys of my body; a little timidly, in thought, in obvious desire, but one bad note out of me, no attention was not unnecessary or unimportant. You sang your body sonnets, the soul responded with letters that you used to draw on me with your fingers, through the lace, pinching the skin. Did you braid my hair, tightening them in a tight elastics below sense never crumbled. You tied the knots of memory wherever touched me lips. You sewed my body to my very thin needle, I felt nothing, only then I would know the sweetness is from the fact that now you don't know why he was always there.

- And who said that flaws is not something that should exist a priori?

- Nastya, why do you have such dirty feet? Nina asked.
- So I go everywhere.
His hands are dirty why?
But I'm all alone.
- So. And the neck-why dirty?
- Well, I tumble sometimes.

"You rejoice" - when I see you and rejoice. And "about you I rejoice" - when I don't even see the person, but just know that it exists, and happy about it. You know?
- How...

You know, if you all watched more daytime soap operas, you'd better understand what I have to go. The UPS and downs, UPS and downs...