The leaves rust, fade, die and then fall. But the leaves always have to budge again. Our youth, however, will never return. The joy of the joy that struggles in us at the age of twenty, gradually begins to linger. The snakes weaken, the senses are atrophied, the hair white. Some people call this (in a way that is erroneous, obviously) maturity. In reality, however, we always go down until we become puppets haunted by the memory of the passions we have too badly hang on, and the temptations we did not have the courage to obey.
No matter how he lived his life, every man encounters old age with a lot of regrets, firmly convinced that he was wasting his life, not knowing that life is, in fact, all those wasting.

![21731143_1319551264839703_1658935542259062601_n.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmbzXBXpWcKF7QJbKbwLki2sx5nGbFj8eZKt3PgZiZAsfP/21731143_1319551264839703_1658935542259062601_n.jpg)

The memories of the most beautiful years of life, which I have already lived, heat up my soulful soul. It was nice. But probably because of my way of living all the intense (and what is lived intensely, it is consumed quickly), everything, but absolutely everything in my life, all that was really beautiful, lived the moment and then disappeared , no trace. Only memories are left, which can sometimes become painful, precisely because you know that never, nothing will be like then. Memories and a feeling of alienation, desertion, absolute loneliness.
I recover, as often as I can, with my soul in the house of my grandparents in the country, looking for the pleasure of being a child. Never alone, because a child does not know loneliness. Whatever it is, he has his imaginary friends, with whom he always plays. I always come back, I make the fire in the stove, winter breaks wood ... but besides these lousy experiences of a much-consumed past, nothing is as old as ever. Even the sun does not go the same way out the window. And everything is running ...
And how many apartments I "destroyed", spending with my friends, in the most beautiful years of life, the first to get over twenty! And how many cottages I shook from the foundations ... and how many mountains I climbed together trusting each other! Walking on the mountain is left, the slopes are running faster now, but there is almost no craziness. Now everything is calculated (in terms of the mountain). And it only happens over the weekend. Otherwise, service. And that is how it will be until old age comes into being for a long time and fully in rights as far as the body is concerned, or until the world's only sure thing - death - has entered into rights. We will never have anything to say about our own death. The dead man does not know he's dead, and we, the living, do not know what death is.
My palms froze, typing these words ... but how many nights did not stay warm, stuck to the skin of those I loved! Now I feel cold, harsh and ... wretched. The sun has no reason to rise if it has nothing to heat with its rays.
I do not regret too much of my youth, who consumes the last moments ... I just regret it's over. I was a nice young man. Adult though, I do not know how to be. Elder, not so much.
My face shows me a baby, but my soul is already rusty ...

![21740387_1319551028173060_2260074119938610665_n.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmU9C7xSNUvbTwzT2632MRWZYLzXRrtZDY5yLwZvWvQ9Mb/21740387_1319551028173060_2260074119938610665_n.jpg)

I'm not a wise man, but I know so much: the world is real, it's not a phantasm; the soul of man is wrapped in body, not wind. Whoever believes otherwise is wrong. And the arguments have enough: the woman's body is warm, wearing the living water, the snow is cold, the flowers smell, the fire is warming up, the rock is hard and hard, the birds are singing, and the death ... death does not exist. (look, I have something to say about death too!)

Young being (some would say he was also disdainful), I always believed in a world that did not exist and, believing in her, I cremated. Inexplicable is just something we can not want with enough strength. And how many fools I could do in the name of this idea! And on how many roads they did not take anywhere, I stubbornly keep going! And all of this, if taken in part, every madness and every bypass can be considered a waste of time, the work of a misguided mind, but, taken together, they actually make up a straight, unabated line that knows only the bypassed roads make you walk on this bloody earth. That was my way. Otherwise I would not have known to go.

![21740215_1319550958173067_1872515895377783759_n.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmbELCy5N1SajnzQvrc4WLuzsyAcyfmLPti824xuKtoBRN/21740215_1319550958173067_1872515895377783759_n.jpg)

Now I'm living out the full fall autumn.. And I hope to be a leaf ...
Youth! Youth! Nothing makes sense, except for youth.
Maybe just spring ...