The soul cries

At last Friday! Tomorrow I last time celebrate the birthday, but before these I should also come to work. Yesterday all my plans have been broken by viewing of simply magnificent film, it is called "Tres metros sobre el cielo". Fairly to you I will tell for a long time so didn't cry... I have returned on 10 years ago to the difficult year of my life (((even now when I to you about it tell at me tears flow... For me it not simply drama, is a slice of life and to rumple about which person there are no 10 years... But I remember till now his face, and especially eyes, I think never it and I will not forget...

Facts of life

We laugh at death and we buy kgs of tablets in a drugstore;

We say that life is fine, and we go to shop behind one more bottle of vodka;

To us насрать on public opinion, and we constantly ask: "as I look?";

We love loneliness and strong we compress in a hand a mobile phone;

We consider that our house - our fortress, and at night we are afraid that it will blow up together with us;

We are assured that are absolutely quiet, and we last a hand to the next cigaret;

We shock people and we are afraid to tell I "love";

We don't trust people and, at least, once a week we are cried on to somebody shoulder;

We don't trust in love and at night we cry in a pillow;

We live for today and we plan on the tomorrow's;

We from a principle don't watch news on TV and we read them on the Internet;

We are very self-critical and we love only ourselves;

We hate our government and with pleasure we mark an Independence Day;

We forgive ourselves all errors and slantwise we look at those who makes them;

We don't trust in ideal people and every day in crowd we look out for the ideal;

To us it is bad from crowd in the underground in the mornings, and we patiently stand every day on a platform in expectation of a train;

We choose that to us to listen, and involuntarily we echo "factory" somewhere in the street;

We always say that we think, and have almost forgot to smile sincerely;

We want, that people accepted us such what we are also hours we stick out before a mirror;

We love clever phrases and we do not understand ourselves;

At us a heap of unsolved talents, and we do nothing that they have revealed;

We hate birthdays and always them we mark;

We adore to sleep in the forenoon and we put an alarm clock for 6 mornings;

We always achieve that we want, and we are afraid to be to nobody necessary;

We write the personal diaries and we want, that them read.

It is possible to spread wings and to depart from all it towards to a wind. But we don't have wings. Because we are unworthy them.

What is the pain for you?

Painfully is when you see, how the own child slowly dies, and you can make nothing; Painfully - it when to you comes at night the message from the falling plane in which your parents fly: "Daughter, we love you"; Painfully is when by one awkward movement of a hand of you do the invalid; Painfully - it when the hope dies … Painfully is when the woman, suffering almost days, doesn't hear shout of the newborn child. Painfully - it when you can't embrace mum or the father because they aren't present... And all this your unrequited love and partings - full lies. Simply the lexicon is too small, here all and name it a pain. A pain which through some bottles of vodka, blocks of cigarets and to steam of unfamiliar persons passes. And present remains with us for ever. In the heart of heart, it isn't forgotten and remains with us as any separate body, having touched to which you it feel also, as 10 years ago...

Too late

Appreciate that at you is... Don't live in search of ideals. Here then you on the present will become happy. Ideals doesn't exist... Now I have understood it, only too late...

Надо как Девиз!!!