Imagine the scene: On the frozen Russian steppes people are piled in the middle of the village. All look very sad, and in the middle of the crowd, a beautiful blonde girl, skin as white as snow itself is crying uncontrollably. Bijan, the only bird in the whole region, has died. No one saw it, but feathers scattered on the snow as they shout from the rooftops. The girl notices the bloody footprints in the snow and gets sadder crying. Like a curse which has broken out, people spread of sorrow and no one dares to speak. Then, between the legs out Lyova frost, jack and at the scene, he goes to the girl: "Had I known you were going to mourn so much, I would eat the feathers also" - said. "It could have invented a story that your bird had gone to another land, hot, fertile, to nest there, but now it's late and your tears I say the next to die will be me." The girl stopped crying only to look at him with hatred, while the black cat stretches out on the snow.
while ago I read this, words, words less and stayed with me in mind. The scene was repeated many times in my dreams and wake up, think I have put these ice boots. I think. Everyone has something that makes us happy. We love to feel loved, admired, respected, needed, essential and even beautiful. We love the idea of \u200b\u200btears in the eyes of those whom we miss and blood in the chest of those who have hurt us.

The trouble with happiness is not to be done, but we left undeniable traces. Sometimes, waking up and chirping lacking the heart, it seems we hear that melody, but it is only a hallucination that vanishes as soon as we found lying next to anyone. The songs sound and then leave when we know by turning our hearts to a huge gap that has left us lost happiness. We write, we are dedicated to create and deliver us to anyone. We want our bird back. That gives us joy that we all need. We feel love, but can not close our eyes so completely.
On the floor, if we dare to look, the feathers, blood ... snow. Our love, sadly, died. The bad thing that has happened is not whether the cold horrendous and loneliness, but there in that corner of the heart, still hear the cries. And as I've said: "It hurts the heart, and to feel that you die, but ... you know what?: Do not Die .
So above is Monday and out there, still waiting for life itself, turned into a titan, waiting for the brave you can grab the eggs and submit. Good start to the week. Titan luck and long life to the little bird that makes them happy.