Dreams that smell like mist. Dreams tinted green
Oftentimes, due to being busy, fearful, or lazy, we refuse even the slightest change in our lives.

First is reading a new book.
Further - a trip, meeting, perception and point of view.
Realizations and regrets always come with a delay.

Step, second, third, I plunge into a fascinating story, unknown words flow around and line up in sentences. They beckon, charm.

This is how reading in a foreign language happens. Twenty years ago, I experienced similar sensations in Russian, but I simply surrendered myself to this stream of knowledge, allowed it to embrace my soul.

And carry away to the unknown worlds of boundless human consciousness, thoughts, feelings.
This skill is lost with age. A huge unraveled tangle of prejudices, fears, a hodgepodge of bitterness and resentment hangs like a sword of Damocles.

The warmth of relatives and friends, the skill of specialists helps to unravel this tangle. If you want, if you will.

Each book has its own life. The writer has breathed this spark, and it lives, it burns as we read it.
Lives after. In our minds, souls and hearts. Reflections before bed.

Walking in the rain, sitting around the fire. Crazy dancing in clubs and drunken conversations until the morning.
We have already changed, we will never be the same.
We are constantly changing, like water. There are no snowflakes with the same pattern.

The best thing a person can do is to allow himself to change and develop.

I allowed myself that gloomy, hopeless winter night.
Jump into a stormy stream, the course of a mountain river, not knowing where it will lead. To the waterfall?

From a salary of 60 thousand to nowhere. From a dirty lake to a clean river. To later, in the ashes, create, create, create.
A dream that smells like mist. A dream tinted green

Near the city there is the village "New Life". Two bodies of water run eight steps away: a warm and muddy lake and a cold, unpredictable and clear river.
I used to be afraid. Now I'm not afraid. This is my way.

The world is dominated by a strange illusion that you need to look for yourself, your own path. A person cannot understand in any way that he is already, is constantly on his way. And this is not a search. It's a choice.

Someone swims in a measured lake, someone - takes eight steps to the river.