Every day when I turn out the light of the bedside table come to mind stories that pefect shape on paper. Many times I turn on the lamp again and look for a notebook agarabatear unfortunately so often are just fabricated stories from beginning to end. But the "modus operandi" is always the same. Sometimes change, but only slightly and when in the middle of the night a dream comes to me or just noise wakes me up of the bed where I curled up peacefully as the most tender puppy in his wooden house, hears a noise, looked out, collecting the heat or cold outside, sits up and barks could be. I, comparisons aside, do the same: sleep, I wake up abruptly, I open my eyes, I stretched and in the meantime, run those imaginative neurons found in a state of half sleep. Actually, everything written here is false. Sometimes you do not sack the head of the wooden house because I prefer to dream peacefully everything safely will never come true.
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