when you get stuck in the ship

The days are just running out as scared, I no longer remember when I felt that everything in turn is all consistent: now I get up, eat, coffee, girl, sandwich, work, beautiful day, car, park, evening, enchanting eyes, wine, music, sleep and future dreams. After all, this was once the case. After all, there were such days one after another, seemingly passing through them as if they were stuck with a sailboat into a circular steering wheel. And now it seems to be the effort to remember and believe that this was the case. Is that still the case?!

All days as porridge of five grain flakes. Drowned in itself, nor a clear texture than a dominant color that could help you imagine this product at least some taste.

Such a jogging from one spoon to another, when somewhere in the room, among all those screaming, falling tools, a delicious Italian fish soup is cool. Such a lakt, flexing a few tools, but still not the one, the wrong and more and more, the choice is infinite and all good, but not to the end, but the fish soup is cool, but the taste is steaming.

And there are strength, it seems impossible to get tired, some endless full moon, everything in tension, through excitement, through anxiety, even through pain. Towards that day with peace, the right day that seems to be still somewhere. Where you could slow down and drink coffee, put a spoon in the soup, sit down and after a deep breath finally say

thanks for being ..