MEGALIT .... "Does the opus of my memory come back to the company of the dead poets and break the verses that keep me behind, th

MEGALIT .... "Does the opus of my memory come back to the company of the dead poets and break the verses that keep me behind, that I for a moment forgot the shadow that occurs from time to time, not for her, but for myself and you departures and arrivals, the distances that are being routine today, they only come down to words and sentences, they come back, they hurry to find me in an effort not to think about the years behind me, because it's past past and you're hand in front of me, you're confusing me forgotten love as the wind breathes harder and harder, I stand facing that wind like us The frivolous train, quietly losing somewhere on the horizon, goes through its memories, it reminds me of the slow-moving music, the last tones hold, as a rule, emphasizing me as an example of a man who tells strange stories in which the children will also find it very difficult to believe, because my exaggerated the desire to love her, that hand that is unsafe throws out, imagined changing the way of performing the tonal tones of the player, making the memory of the empty hall and looking like a smaller format, trying to present all the unknownness of the verses with a mixed mismatch of words in that sentence, almost as if sj Even, the rug is even stronger, even stronger and worse, converts the ambience into a hysterical conversation with me, though, with my hand on my heart, I remain calm and firm, I oppose the fate to lead me in such a terrible path and here, the last time I expect it to be I see, on Wednesday, that it is Wednesday, I imagine that day as a peaceful one that vainly invokes and does not come often, in fact, never comes, which, from passion, which from habits, ruins me, separates itself peacefully without seeking anything, separates the boundaries of infinite the worlds as a part of myself, while I am unprepared and defend the guilt, attached to what should be d You, the decision is simple and can be played in the first act, but in the first act of my life, it covers my thoughts and holds it in the distance, clearing my desire in the willingness to truly never see each other, and in the other, as for me , I did not believe in the distant coincidence that overwhelmed us all and all my vascular demand that the weakness towards her, replaces the fear of the uncertainty she caused by the symbols and the strange signs that adapted to her own worlds, what I, without her interference in one's own desires induced sincern and weakness, differently freed from his sentimentality towards the faith in those spoken words, in the way he really wants to be and is amazed at me every time I write a new story, we run away from us, running away from the fear of all the unrest that carries those words, murmuring through the dark secrets and without oscillation, the age in a new size, the size that loses all its supports from losing, caressing in love in a strange way, only known to her, and cowardice that it should have been different, without saving what is saved, yes, only one hand of reconciliation as gentle the witness as the supply of desire, adapting to extricate ourselves for all the weaknesses that we are hiding, from the mere memory of trying at least at the asymmetry that settled in time between us, because strange things are all strange to the ways of the Lord, it is weird to make unnecessary CURRENT EXECUTION, and we cordially observe the time that goes bravely without us, leaves us walking without any purpose, we are preoccupied, we revive all our insanity, creating habits that this ruptured emptiness speaks of all our defectiveness, without a smile and cheer on the face, resisting the need without a certain sense and the extent of the burdened arshin, we adjust everything at our own discretion, the dispersion of all weaknesses and without any norms and codes of good behavior in uncontrolled thought, because if it is not so, everything would have a different form, without paying attention to this confusion, it would finally become the feeling of changed lines of PORTRAIT sown by the sounds that descend through the pictures of full of colorful colors, and, more strange, it all acts as tomorrow's tomorrow without the axillas of distress, only with the inner passion that brings shimmering snow and pull out m from the depths of my memories .... "Senad