Will pass very few time, and I again will start it to wait and recollect, how it is fine, with izumrudno-sonorous foliage and freckles from golden hats of dandelions on each lawn, with warm rains and freakish figures from white cotton wool in the dark blue bottomless sky. Because I am not able to live without expectations. In the winter I wait for summer, and summer of winter. I always wait for something... Also I recollect...

Probably, it is bad. It is necessary to live for today, instead of future which has not come yet, and past which is already cunning. But me it is close in the present, I do not have not enough past and the future in each instant of my life... And to treat me, I am afraid, already late. I so never also will not learn to live a reality if till now has not learnt, and I fly by all and without that a short life between memoirs and dreams, in any klubnichno-vanilla clouds...