From the room, in fact, it was a fortress, with windows, in the dark attracted from the sparks, sprawling dying stars, went down, faster than a ray of sunlight, fictional thought of the rest inside. She no longer had a name, send it as a bet, to get wind sighs, and the dealer had decided not to stay at work anymore and did not deliver the name of the wind ... The chimney remained empty, the soot was settled in the morning of bats, but unsuspected sighs they kissed the kisses in the flying dishes of the antennas and relayed to the subscribers from within the most unexpected thought for happiness. Her door locked, with an unfinished turn key, and her threshold fell asleep for a hundred-year-old sleep. Windows, eyes desperate, for air, they have forgotten their pupils, and they are in oblivion unobserved and look somehow in the world outside. With stretched umbrellas dandelions fly in the fields - trying to escape from the cobwebs every cobweb. The gardens split thinking expect rain from the clouds of foolishness, in the hope of a flash-needle ... not all of them are for sewing names (in the forgetting of a fad of fog and unfinished buttons concern, long-awaited, almost touched the world of eternity in the register of the days of celebration, melt the dust of indifference and waiting to see someone the hue of his past from an unnamed name). One of the names for sewing, Reminds the path of the window to someone's discovery on a thread of light in the size ¾ with an unexpected poster and a concert visit in the air halls exhibitions. The key for moments is forgotten on the grand piano to the thrill of the last touch chord accordion ...
