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. 

tell me bout yourself i hate introducin myselfmy name is easyafter that…you’re on your own always feelslike somebody’s askin meto draw the oceanwith a goddamn rulerand i’ve never trusted a straight linerivers don’t use themlight bendsroots grow thru concreteand the...

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,...