Thoughts

The road was direct and rolled.  It moved forward at a decent speed as on the asphalt highway an evening time – when the sun is already low and its golden beams warm heart, as in the childhood when it was still absolutely young and carefree, nothing an understanding microbe.  The breeze blew in his propylyonny person.  On a face the concern print lay.

This print left the outside world, after all the inner world at it was light, complete and infinite, as the Universe under beams of divine presence. The outside world юлил also branched all the time … Oh these to me crinkles with carrying by, as jet horses, thoughts. What drives them why there is no rest to them? These rhetorical questions ceased to weigh it for a long time. He knew that he and is their driving force. Their carrot and stick …

…  It reached level of the magician last summer.  He could create now pseudo-realities, he could create pseudo-thoughts and send them to a pursuit of unattainable, such ephemeral happiness.  At it it turned out.  He comprehended lamination and learned stability of a form.  But he still in any way didn't manage to comprehend deeply "echeloned", belonging to the reality from time of its creation of the background thoughts which escaping sense weighed it and I left that mark of concern.

Sweet, as honey, and volume, as bee honeycombs, bitter, as heavy, unrestrained memories of unfulfilled desires, salty as tears of the saliferous horizon of the Jurassic Period, creations caused it in it easy grief when it was necessary to leave them. They were so real. He felt that he is close to a solution.

It hung, soared between the worlds – after all to enter into the world, it is necessary to accept it, to fall in love, idolize. But it escaped, the sense thawed, energy didn't suffice. It asked for help. It couldn't be anywhere and in anything, with anybody and never. He trusted, he knew, he felt, it was. It was. It was with it. Always.