HALFWAY TO CALCULATION

There is an ominous drumming in his heart, boundless vulnerability gnaws. Those who are left alone for good have neither time nor anyone. Twilight dips its richly golden-tipped feather into the undressing of seasons when autumn comes again. He who is left alone can no longer be comforted by either the living or the dead. Unread Apokfif moves hang on the walls of Time; our memory moments gradually become denser: do you bind up the bleeding, punctured wounds of your cells voluntarily or out of pity?!

The one who is left alone, the mournful admission reflects: he has always stood alone in the face of the threatening World. The Indian wind of times is only a fragment of his memory. An unprincipled defense and defiance alliance cannot serve with sufficient impartiality to create new relationships.

Creating a sacred protection system out of friendships is almost totally impossible. He who is left alone, let his voice be a tame knock, his gaze a hard flash. You can't do anything else! You should collect the scraps together so that you know for sure who you can trust?! It is necessary to hold, which in many cases is untenable. His soft-bodied, little dreams are alarmed, and then they become prisoners again, because something still has to be faithfully attached and attached to.

The phlegmatic self-consciousness will be fearfully conscious of loneliness: "You were a fool to always expose yourself to life like this!" - For those who are left to themselves, their repressed waking life also crunches like a skeleton. The well-deep mouth of caves opens wide and then swallows the curious longing. More and more people are now squealing with regretful moments, because they imagine that it might make sense to give back the right to anyone, so that happiness can be found and satisfied.

- Those who are left alone will have to learn to hurt and mourn the embittered Whole, which was once already broken!