Хочу вернутся. Не описывать сны, а показывать?
Я умирал столько раз, я потерял интерес к смерти.
А это и есть интрес к жизни, когда жить хочется.
Сколько написано о любви, но ведь потому, что самый близкий ... всегда чудой.
Так что это за чувство и что с ним делать?
"Anatoly, we need your mind. You have to put behind. See it differently. You are free. Understand? Do you see it?"Вот как все кончается.
I need to type the dream I wrote down a few days ago.
I see dreams. It's normal. Sometimes she is in. It's nornal too.
I do not know what process she goes through and to be precise I do not want to know. This is a part of my process of separation -- the indiferrence. You have to get used to unthinkable.
The dream I just saw is a reply of the present situation.
I almost didn't recognize her and Sasha, as if I only knew that it's Esther and my daughter.
And the clother left on the floor.
And the same thought -- no, I won't do anything to fix.
I get used to my freedom.
Dreams in WeBook.
She was talking on the phone and I saw from the distance from behind, but she wasn't aware of presence. She kept saying -- that so many wanted to go with us to the theatre. Was she making a list for comp tickets? She had this haircut with the shaved back I never could get used to and she gained weight since I saw her last. Ah, now I understood that didn't see her long, months, many years. She aged. They, the family, gave her a nick name "Puppy" and she always was a doll, even at fourty they carded her in the liquer store. Now she aged. I always thought that she will be like those little tsisters, her unties in Addis, with the grey heads. I couldn't see much, I was afraid that she will notice me, because I was coming closer to her. I could see the back of her neck and this is how I knew that she aged. I was afraid that she will turn back and I won't recognize her face. I wanted to leave, because I saw her the way the others saw her -- nothing special.
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