trains [Theme]

Try flexing your joy muscle and see what happens. Nothing heals us better than ourselves. ✨

Pieces of life flashed by in flashes, like the windows of a fast-moving train. In between there is emptiness.

In an age of impatience and instant gratification, one way to make everything more memorable is to delay the end point. If you spend five hours climbing to the top of a mountain, it is much more interesting than if you get there in fifteen minutes by cable car. For some trips, it is also possible to buy train tickets rather than plane tickets. It will take you longer to get to the end point, but you can get more pleasure. Trains are the tantra of travel.

- Great. I can't wait... to have my own solitary cell.

As she and I sat in a cafe and she told me about cappuccino, I wondered why I was always lucky to meet people just at the moment when they were about to weigh anchor and go somewhere else. That's the question! To be honest, I almost stopped asking them. Why is our time always running out? Why exactly when you think you need a person who will do something really crazy, like complete you almost completely, does he tell you that he has a plane ticket in his pocket? He is leaving. But it's people like Libby who make me think that even if a person has only twenty-four hours before a plane or train, it's still worth taking the risk and trying to get to know them better. These people will teach you a lot. And when this thing inside of them starts screaming "run, run, run" - there is no choice but to let them go. I have not yet seen a single person who has gone out into the world - participating in the search with all his heart - and has not returned more knowledgeable than he thought himself. That's what I think about those people who come into our lives with plane tickets: you have to let them go. Let them see what is there - “out there somewhere”.

I never published it. Maybe one day I will. It's good to know that there is a bulletin board that holds all hope, and that all the places we go and the people we stare at and the letters we leave for others to find are not in vain.

No matter how you look at it, it was a blinding train wreck, a collision between two people who didn't know how to give up on each other once and for all. I thought (and almost every cell in my brain was at attention, waiting) that he would leave her. So I opened the doors for him that I swore never to open. I laid out my complexes on the table, like playing cards. I pretended that I was the only one. But - no, I never planned to be that other girl.

Life goes on as usual, thumping the rhythm like the wheels of a train rushing forward. And spring is still knocking on windows, doors, asking for renewal, love and care.

At half-past four, Bomba rocked the bunk too much, and the already dozing sergeant fell out of the train, broke his leg and received second-degree burns.

Here is a life in which you are absent.

The railway is precision, it is comfort, it is cleanliness.

Telegram (03.10.2022).

Well, there's really nothing you can do about it. Still, people should make do with what they have and say thank you for having at least this. As for the dissatisfied, it is they who make discoveries, invent something and in every possible way contribute to the progress of civilization. Who loves to travel - will come up with cars and trains. Those who want to fly design airplanes and spaceships. And we got all this thanks to a handful of people with a sharp rational mind. In other words, everything that we have we owe to these geniuses, these eternally dissatisfied. And we, ordinary people, prefer to live the most ordinary life.

But best of all, the electric white cross sparkled in the hands of the enormous Vladimir on Vladimirskaya Gorka, and it was visible far away, and often in the summer, in the black haze, in the tangled backwaters and bends of the old river, made of willow, the boats saw him and found water in his light. way to the City, to its marinas. In winter, the cross shone in the black thick of the sky and coldly and calmly reigned over the dark gentle expanses of the Moscow coast, from which two huge bridges were thrown. One chain, heavy, Nikolaevsky, leading to Slobodka on the other side, the other - tall, arrow-shaped, along which trains ran from where the mysterious Moscow sat very, very far away, spreading its motley hat.