On a distant night, when moons were exchanging, and stars were missing from the sky, some eyes drew under their eyelids. Whether the sleeping door opens itself or the door, the entrance door, wants someone to let go, I do not know, but something has happened ... That's not going to happen, because in dreams everything is told in other dimensions, and the languages spoken are by calling and textbooks and dictionaries are hard to find ... But so it happened that very near, almost to this dream, lived in his home, an immature little rabbit. When everyone was asleep, he went out of his box, exquisite, ordered to the best jeweler, but the people in this house did not have much, but they also had their own requirements for value systems, and here they were strict - not allowed to decorate with jewelery . Therefore, the box of brass, with braids incrusted by the mother-of-pearl, became his home, but secretly. Otherwise, they just stood on a day-by-side basis, next to each other on the shelf on which they were born, a pair of pebbles with holes, two angels in pink and blue that had been years old, like the grandmother of the daughter of the maid awoke, circled, guarded the house, spoke to the angels sitting on the window sill. They were fragile, their gypsum wings, so they stayed in the room. To the angels - a rusty horseshoe from the time of Kaloyan, and then - charred, but too rounded by a spoon of blossoms, surely from the Thracians, touching him with the fingers of a master and finally - a stone with an egg size , as they were once attacked by attackers who came under fortress walls, and maybe boars and bears - that's why history is silent ... So the inhabitants of the shelter were inhabitants, but its strange name was the "palace", this shelf, it was totally wooden for me, for you and your home, but for them it is their home, that is, palace. Looking at the front, it looked like a froze in a lake pagoda. It was broadcasting a miniature fountain of madness, that is, to inhabit such a place for centuries, with memories and your own handicraft, which in this case was a glass painted by strange forms of any kind of bottles ... Like glass or large vases, of the entire "palace" population. They lived as heroes in a story they wrote on their own and only knew the walls in the room ... In fact, the "palace" was a tower, and according to the population - and the Babylonian ... the heroes everywhere, the languages - different. They should have each other as ever, a mutual misunderstanding. But here, I told you, as in dreams, it was only by vocation. And so the rabbit reached that dream ... He had studied a little music. And so far, when he was shaking, but only with his friends, he made the tone. But he could have been a major, but there were no places to place them, and he liked the last bench next to the window, where the sunrise was just before the start. And he was always the most beautiful, but sad, because it was over. So stay in the minor. And the tone was a whim, the unfulfilled dream of playing the guitar, but the desire to carry an initial tone to adjust ... Disturbed by these memories, but the strings in the souls of this kind of rabbits are quickly recovering soon he listened to the dream from which the sleeping landlady was talking to a fictional woman, at least that seemed - it was like a lady of a certain age around your imagination. It could have happened to be a tree or a shadow, but it could have been a feeling. It was changing so as not to disturb the state of which he was currently talking to. Here was a river. It was obvious that it was great, its waves gleaming wide, though it had already shrunk its waters in the narrower bed. There were scars, such as the lack of stones that were marked only in her memories, and it seemed to be her days and some hours of joy. He wore bluish shades like sky. It was only at the edge of her smile that a familiar note of sunsets ... Yeah, these were sunsets, the rabbit immediately realized ... and it was as if it had been carried on the bench, the day it was written and the tone ... The fictional lady that looked like dreaming like a river, and so he talked, was still going on, and the landlady questioned. She, the rabbit's henchman, loved to travel ... But she was always watching the sunsets from the window, a screen or many pages of books with days of people, were in the world, and happening happenings, simple stories as they walked in a crowd on the city or on the bridges of a river, or on the edge of something or on the paths in the woods ... and often, even while watching gulls and goblins and listening ... for example, Wagner ... Do you smile ... And you are sad ... The fictional lady of the dream understood . Do you know her ... like ... feeling ... And that's where the dream collapsed ... It did not make sense, I mentioned at the beginning whether he himself allowed someone to himself or that was the outside door that let someone ... but collapsed ... like the walls of a tower ... It's barely enough to get the rabbit set up daily ... even think a bit ... that the coming night will come, pray for the dream to allow it close if it tells you...
