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    In the secret corner of my soul, cherished by no one, my little nook is chewed by a tiny man, whispering and riding my ears! ,, Listen to yourself! beware because the world can trample! ” - whispers with murderous self-awareness the petrified and pure honesty! The firefly of biological existence I know still retains its halo light, that the heart-shaped pounding rose in my chest is still ticking and beating intact! How long does the feeling of free life throb in me? 

    Believe my body, like a cruel toothbrush or a prison guard, is locked in a cage, and my soul aches because of it! How long can I cast off the sheer and wild scent of the air, the good and fresh feeling of the breath, how long can I hear my sweetheart calming down next to me in harmony-silence, and in his dream rocking his ominous and dirty dreams, and I would kiss my loving, hard-working heart! – S to look softly and hesitantly into the nursery: Does the blessed fruit of our love sleep?

    And to sing and talk to them a tale or an old man when our dormant existence is in danger! To take care, to protect, and to love while my mother can have a humane, halo conscience! And to help my father when it is harder to move in the morning, and to work soberly – s to encourage him by squeezing and holding his two hands with labor roots so that he can always think with him!

    The gloomy and death-creating flowers of the passing, slowly as if to open the fruits of existence between the microcosms of the inner hall as the Autumn approaches, and now I only dare to go through my life half-naked and gradually built up day by day! With content and careful values, as gifts borrowed, I dare only keep the spirit of my thoughts on a sheet of paper or a machine-text editing program, and I can only hope that someone up in heaven will listen to my request with patient grace:

    If I could, I would like to see and raise my grandchildren with my rattling snow-white comet and teach them the honor of Human Behavior, and perhaps my wife is caring, holding a blessed and fragile hand, we would guide each other with faithful love in support of the mature summers of old age existence! The uterine sting of despair shatters, and day after day, I am tormented by whether I can be?