What for we shall stylize our death?
Yesterday I was on a cemetery, in the other city…
There father of my good friend is buried..
He was not on a tomb of the father seven years…
We have spend some hours per the machine, on road from Rostov to Yeysk. Have lost the way twice…
Once on a high-way (there is a repair of road M4 — a federal high-way Moscow — Sochi, and… I think, that road workers have removed a sign..), the second, on a cemetery, my friend long searched for a tomb of his father..
On a cemetery you understand finiteness of the existence…
All dreams, all experiences, all achievements, ideas all this addresses in a piece of a stone which cracks on seams under weight of time when there… The flesh which once the vein, wished below decays, possessed and burn with desire, the pain felt…
What remain after me?
I want, that me cremated. When there will be time for this.
I want, that my heart will be transplant to other person if it will be possible.
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