Fate is enough

 
The person who is unexpectedly left to himself - although he is shaken and horrified - but still goes before the executioner-smelling, wretched Fate. Neither friends nor the existence of eternal undying love can be found on his bare, bald, brittle-marble old man's face - no mischievous childish rainbow clings to him.

Those who remain forever alone, as a diligent and active news-teller into a landless past, may be half-way staring into their memories, as if what is and what could be are not possible, but reality, and they do not take daily voluntary exile so seriously.

Although happiness was left out of the man's life on purpose, the found Sweetheart still defiantly faces fate. Because Time chews and devours his internal organs more and more and curses his never-before-seen career.

He thinks of eternal loneliness, cast out, gloomily, and from his bleak days he gathers futility to continue to hope stubbornly and cowardly. In this hellish, space winter, his impossibility became less and less. And although he still cherishes that certain, expensive, mirage dream; somewhere, even now, the Someone, who would always help and comfort the crying child's soul, would expect him. "Out there, everything has turned into a superficial lie."

In the fabulously beautiful smiles, murderous daggers are tense - the only, sole-licking lesson of today: to use everything and everyone to the fullest, and then throw them away, like used rags. Who could really be interested in selfless, loyal emotion these days, as a crystal clear process of getting to know each other?! Divas have long been reduced to commodities, and if excessive make-up could not remain on parchment faces, many of them would soon be forgotten anyway.

They sulk, hiss, or just rant, and everyone can make fun of everything; he can be a prisoner in luxury prisons for a bribed life, he can draw eternal unhappiness on his head, but he loses himself!