the door [Theme]

You never know if the door is half closed or half closed.

He once heard that in order to mentally prepare for parenthood, you need to go to a rock festival and live in the same tent with your fat, stoned friends. From morning to evening you stagger like a somnambulist, in a constant state of acute lack of sleep, your clothes are all smeared with food that you yourself only ate on rare occasions, there is an eternal ringing in your ears. As soon as you walk past a puddle, some idiot, giggling, will immediately jump into it with both feet, and as soon as you retire to the toilet, they immediately start banging on the door and demanding that you come out. They wake you up in the middle of the night to share with you some innermost thoughts, and in the morning you often wake up in someone's puddle.

If you stand on the threshold for a long time, the door turns into a dead end.

I think you guessed what I'm talking about.

A fool breaks a wall when there is an open door nearby.

Will they open a door that has not yet been created? Does it make sense to knock on a door that has not yet been created?

Everything comes, but only if you open the right door.

... Before all the prickly snowflakes had time to fly away to the north, there was a subtle smell of tulips in the air. A barely perceptible smell, like spring itself. You feel it with some kind of subconscious, sixth sense, but you don’t yet understand why exactly it appeared to you. In watercolor clouds with a thin thread of pink sunset or in fragile grass breaking through the snow. So it is with love. He comes unnoticed, on tiptoe, barely touching your still sleeping eyes, kisses your eyelashes, touches your warm cheek with a stripe from your previous sleep, smoothes it out. Gently, like a butterfly, touches your lips, afraid to wake you up or seem pushy. Braids your most cherished dreams into your braids, puts fresh flowers of hope in your pockets. And you smile in your sleep, joyful and calm, trusting this new feeling. Everything that happened before, all your disappointments, fears, doubts will melt like this February snow and flow away with the first streams. Do you hear, baby, Spring-love is knocking on your door. Come on, girl, go ahead and open it. You, like no one else, deserve your happiness!

I'll go into the void.

The angel sang - and the skin burst.

The cold and prickly month of February. He looks into your coat collar and makes you quicken your step, as if he’s hurrying you towards spring, towards your dreams, towards new people you meet along the way. And you are a little scared, and you try to resist this unknown flow, grab onto tree branches, but you are still irrevocably carried forward. Gray days and changeable mood, when you really want the sun. And somewhere there, in a deep pocket, you feel with an almost icy, barely moving hand a small, glimmering coin of hope. Chilled through and through, you almost don’t believe in this find, you carefully touch it again, and the warmth begins to spread in a soft wave across your palm, rises up your shoulder and then a little down to your very heart. You look into this torn sky with gray clouds, behind which completely different colors emerge, which only you notice. And you are no longer cold at all, because you believe that spring miracles are about to knock on the old creaky door of your snow-covered house again.

There is little else that makes it more difficult to see how our desires, and, at the same time, our passionate attitude to business, are the door to our tomorrow's success. To achieve one, limit yourself in another, and, at the same time, you cannot

- I would like to. you're coming. Chaldean opens the door for you. You walk in and say: a glass of vodka! Cutlets on the table and you say: for everything!

- I would like to. you're coming. Chaldean opens the door for you. You walk in and say: a glass of vodka! Cutlets on the table and you say: for everything!