Summer in short sentences

The smell of dirt on my hands. My first beer in the park. Her summer dress. The doubts, when i woke up early in the morning and from my balcony I look the coming of the sunrise. My fantasy while running "Bulgaria" boulevard - to teleport on another place. The feeling that everyone is equally far away from me. The irony of the their importance in my life. Elderly man with white and black coat. The protests. Depression. Self isolation. Solitude in my father's house. The knowledge that I have to do something, but I don't know exactly what. The lifting of the stone in the graves. The slobbers, that Sara drops, when she sees me.

    I'm sun bathing in the Borisova garden. The worried face of Vassil, who is waiting for an answer for the permission. Revaluation of the situation. Fear. Love. Tenderness. Hatred. The light looking forward. Hope for the people I love. Hope for me. Faith. Madness. Acceptance of  what happened. Sight for the people around me. For their value. The smell of an old book. The words of a Norwegian explorer. The boy, who is racing with the trolley. The happiness on his face. Niels, who reminds us for the months passed. The laugh of Boryana and Mirella. Happy moments of isolation from reality. Wild spinning of the pedals through night Sofia. My love for this city. My father is Freddie Mercury. My cruelty. Desperation from the lack of developing. The desire to jump.

   

   The father, who is riding skateboard with his son and holds him for the hand, watching  for his kid not to fall. The childs gets faster and the father loose balance. The kid rides alone. My ticket to Berlin. Getting out of the apathy.

    The bat in my room. The feeling to hold something so fragile and to save if from your cat. Priceless. The squeak of the flying mouse. My mother, who says that this is a sign for luck. I hope she is right. Days is the park with a book in the hand. The heat and the dust, while cleaning the yard. Welcoming the sunrise with running. Drawing off a chemical toilet. To squeeze the shoulder of a friend in need. The question "Who am I?". The carelessness of Matous. The happiness of Mirella. The knowledge that the things will come in order. Addiction. The beers in the park. The walks in the mountain. The blood that is dropping from my nose. Decisions. Night conversations. Dreams.

   Waking from them, without to realize, that they haven't happened. The face of my uncle. Surprising discoveries. Mediator. The coming of the event. The feeling, that you've found a solution.

   The value of helping someone in trouble. The conversations with the woman, who had broken her ankle, while we are waiting for the rescue. The short sunburned savior. The weight of the stretch. The praise of the rescue guards. My first tour as a guide. Stiller's kind of thoughts. THe passenger is smoking a cigarette next to me and I'm dancing like a madman around the apartment. favor from a friend.

   Tensed waiting. I'm sweating. Meeting like in the movies. Grasp, that you can't get out from. Moments of happiness. Return of the usual sleep. Changing of buses. The heaviness of the backpack. Responsibility. Pain from the forgotten unity. The smile. The sweat. Barriers. Steps in the mountain. Conquered peaks. Romantic sandwiches. The feeling to eat soup at 2300 meters attitude. The family from Varna with the improvident and tactless husband. Wind around the tent. Sunsets and sunrises. The magic of the lakes. She swims in the lake. The caresses of the sun. The hinds in the night. March with the sunrise. The exalted russian woman in the bus. The mindlessness of her words. The looking. My tighten calves. White t-shirts and twenty five people. Titanic hike. Translation. National dances and songs around the fire. Warming in the tent. Broken zipper. Many photos. Love. Dust and bad mood. Beer for the winners. The dinner. Train conversations. The heat in Plovdiv. Salad. The feeling of the electricity going through your body. The old town.  Walking up with a smile. Turkish sweet. Strange talks in the wilderness. Passion. Trial. Passion. The exotic in the train. Her smile. We are running again from the reality of the departure. The coffee in the park. Airport. The scent of caramel in her mouth. Returning to reality. Taking notes is the bus. Counting days. In the night I'm eating chocolate.

    The concert of Roger Waters. I catch myself, that I'm crying. Concert for my father. Concert for which some people are angry at me. I'm tired of this. Spectacle, leaving me without words, but calling many images in my mind.

    Wedding. I don't know almost anybody. Maybe my place is not here. I'm happy for the newlyweds. Observation of the relatives. Darkening and getting colder. Realization of similarity. Digging in the history.

   A month til Berlin. My legs are popping from the tours. I feel calm. The water of the waterfall is boring me. The handshaking of Solomon Pasi. The magic with which brings out his business card. Maltese art from Soho. Questions for the future. Family. Friendships on internet. Thoughts about the name. Reading of poetry in the Boyana church. Juggling. The strong hug of Sara. Her happiness for me. The absurd of death. Emo, who is laughing. Rosen's daughter, who is laughing and is his copy. The young Iassen, who loves Beatles. Rainstorm. To look person, who has butterflies in his stomach. Night Plovdiv. Doners. Science. Art. To watch people when the knot is untying. To turn into jelly.

  Life is wonderful.