At night never he will sleep. Strange. Planing, probably beautiful. Eternal. Inhalations do not be sufficient. It chokes. She writes that happy. It is shut. Has long ago it not loved. Only it is played. It is scolded. It parts. It returns. And everything in the circle. Everything so cyclically is repeated. Nature is sharp. Easily it explodes. Cockroaches in the head has long ago been already it not troubled. So frequently it offends. So rarely it apologizes itself. People it does not value. Frequently it makes mistakes. It is fundamental. It is too self-confident. Small girl plays into the games as if. Its nature - as if on the volcano. That suddenly will explode, entire that created destroying. That will sleep for years, no one noting. Its eye - as the cup of green tea. Such pleasant. But so frequently it anneals. Winter. Spring. Already even there is no difference. Love does not await. It always into its life suddenly is dug in. It is a little taught by life. It warns itself. It holds in control emotions. Stretched it smiles. Will find happiness? It for this hopes. Well and thus far. At night never he will sleep. Strange. Planing, surely beautiful. Eternal. Inhalations do not be sufficient. It chokes. She writes that happy. Again it is shut.