the beat [Theme]

The night is melting in a dream, as if a spark danced in madness to the beat of the devil, and I, as if in non-existence, are looking for your hand so that you touch me, as I touch you, madly~↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

If I could touch something intangible, I would choose the pre-sunset moment. It seems to me that it would be cool and smooth, as if the fingers slide over the satin, straightening the folds, thereby blending the shadows and midtones. It would be enveloping and gentle, as if I had thrown off everything superfluous, left with naked thoughts and curves of the body, and wrapped myself in light translucent silk. It would be a little denser than air, but the palms would feel a barely perceptible weight and would try to hold this moment forever, so that in moments of anxiety I could squeeze my fingers tighter and feel that even the most fleeting time always moves to the beat of even the most wayward heart.

Those who are better than us are following us.

I WANT SILENCE IN THE WORLD. I WANT TO LISTEN TO MUSIC...

If only I could dance with you again ...

And he smiles sadly at himself.

I barely wake up.
What a sensitive hangover!
What endurance and tact!
Scalded liver waks,
About something about his babble
Gastrointestinal tract.
It will be very ugly
The one that in the morning will not give for beer.

- Woolley... - Yavor Zayadlo turned to his brother. - Do you remember that I was thinking about tactful remarks?
"Ahha, Yavor, I remember," Woolley replied humbly.
- Dyx et' was tactless.

Time was distorted like crooked mirrors.

In order not to go mad from loneliness, I decided to conduct a more orderly way of life. With me still was my watch - pre-war "omega", which along with a fountain pen - my only riches - to-shore as the Apple of his eye. By this clock, which always neatly wound up, I made myself a study plan. Throughout the day, I lay without movement to save the tiny reserve of strength which still remained. Just about noon I reached out and took lying next to the crackers and a Cup of water. This was meager diet. From morning to this "lunch" I restored in the memory the beat of tact for all the works that ever played.

Flowers on the tips of his eyelashes like a perennial star Shine dimly and silver, real lanterns. My boy looks like fireflies with your eyes, spinning around and not moving at all. Landon gently takes my hand and draws to himself, really silent, but I still listen. I sing in time with his heartbeat, put his hand to the place where we live feelings and pain, and whisper that the mountain disappeared, disappeared, or simply went away. And the guy whispers that grief is rain, rain, came down from heaven, touched everyone, the rain, crying about the fact that he is in trouble. I agree and keep quiet afterwards.

- Hammer - nerd, wannabe. He is a weapons specialist, like me. Only he has no skills, no talent, no tact.
- Since when you got the beat?

It's bad when people comes born with an innate sense of tact, which then does not coincide with the rhythms of the era.

We stop up their ears not to become deaf from the screaming but listen to the whisper.