I can see myself having a walk to my home in the early morning, probably less than 5 C degrees, high levels of humidity, fog. Any car, not many lights. Two much thoughts.

I think about writing in English, just because a girl asked me to do it. I think about what to write, if I should avoid a hint to actual people from my personal life. I ask myself, speaking loud alone (and, probably, seeming lightly insane), why not to try it again, lose it again. Suddenly I want to shout, but instantly I forget the idea. I don’t want to be such an idiot.

Fast gaze to a mirror: an angry guy fighting against an illusion. Mourning for nothing. Speaking bullshit.

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