The vibrant plain Nadir Praktica MTL3 condemned. The air is tense, but I know that nothing is going to explode. What I can say? This is the time, I'm sure. In the days I was happy, I always distorted, always believed in what I am, life pink, etc. On nights when I felt so bad as to mourn loudly, did not cry out loud, but quietly, covered by the pillow. But there is also an exaggeration. You can not be polished with chest puffed out of grief, or despair. Better call it despair. Just for me, of course. Let others post their labels: hypochondriasis, neurasthenia, moon ...
I have reached a deal with myself and therefore I call desperation. This is the moment I am safe because I'm neither happy nor desperate. I am, as it were, just quiet.
No, look, I falsify. I'm awfully quiet.
's better.