From living,  to memory,  to dust,  to forgotten.    My beloved, so many pictures, so pretty your grave, so sadly forgotten.    From heat of blushes, to the cold of death, to existing in memory only, to forgotten dust in the wind. 

It's in the clear skyWhistling wings that drift awayNew roses trembleBuzzing air of thirsty beesLight sun that caresses green leavesSearching for warmthFinding peaceAh, whether you want it or not nowGo loadedCarry the fruit of your vigilsFull of lightFinally livingGo...

sadness answers me from deep withina lone sacred voice...melancholyblue infused with lonelinesslooking for something beautiful through the chaosquiet and pure with the fascination of a childbut with wisdom of the learnedgently she instructs me urging me forwardsometimes she is...

 ... in which Tolya and Lyonya discuss female psychology, and Valya confesses that she wears orange socks, after which everyone experiences a slight shock Crossing the snow-covered asphalt road, on which yesterday's abandoned car was still visible through the haze,...

... in which Bassoon futilely attempts to restore law and order, but only manages to quit smoking. Something cold trickled down his face. Blood? Bassoon barely opened his eyes. No, just tiny snowflakes melting on his skin. The Rosgvardia officer...