About me

 I awaken from the bright sun that looks outside my window. I enjoy watching it move slowly from chest of drawers to sofa, from sofa to doorway. This is a historical chest of drawers, our family heirloom. From time to time, he darkened, leaned as if ashamed of the old age. Yes, he gets younger in the early hours, though he barely notices it. Why do I know that? Because the day comes, the chest of drawers starts to squeak, crackling softly like an old man - complaining about his previous age. Its surface seems to be garnished by thick fog, filling with compact darkness, and even the light of the night light makes it to hide away in one corner. Now, however, in the morning, it appears as though he wakes from waxing, washing his simple pattern. Who knows what he retained in his little boxes, everything he hid behind the carved doors? Perhaps a person's timid letters, amber bracelets, precious rings, or little lace batiste handkerchiefs? Now I don't to disturb him for nothing. Let me keep my thoughts, and that I will try to maintain it.

  My previous chest of drawers is quite friendly with the armchair and does not enjoy the big, fashionable vase, lurking in the corner. She understands this, and crimson is poured red, projecting dazzling reflections on the corners. I don't adore her very much , but she is part of my past memories, and that I do not dare to forget them just like I do not dare leave her. Let.

 Along with the chair? In addition, it has a very long and sad history. Occasionally it squeals with its own springs, attempting to get rid of the unwanted guest. However, this occurs only on quite cold, autumn days. Why my seat does not like fall remains a puzzle to me personally, but we are all friends, respecting one another's flaws. But in winter evenings it saves me, warming me into its profound embrace. How can it wind up in my corner? Even I won't answer this question myself. Or was inherited by my cousin, who liked to sit by the hearth, sipping warm tea and arguing with his fellow villagers? Or my great-great-grandmother, who was the first beauty and won more than one joyful heart, decided to embellish her house? And perhaps it was his ancient ancestor who obtained the king's cards (oh, it is a narrative, in addition to thousands of other people, carefully inherited. To whom will I pass them, so mysterious and sweet for my heart?) 1 way or the other, it's firmly established in my simple area, snuggled in a corner stuck, like a nose, at the couch.  How long will we remain together, who knows? But we will be there till one of us will be older in any way. And then. What's going to happen then, I do not dare to make up my mind. All things considered , this is a completely different story.

  Hi, my name is Sebastian, I work for https://spielautomat-casinos.at/ I've got a fascinating job, I work as a manager I write articles on different topics.

  Yes, time. After all, there continue to be hours in my life. Big old-fashioned floor clocks. Framed by gold and malachite. Seeing me endlessly long ago in an antique store and presented for me... Who? Oh, I do not remember. Oh, who is it? No. I really don't keep this narrative. It's not interesting to me personally. With a light heart, I forgot about that the giver. Who was he, where he dwelt, what was he breathing? No, I will not remember. But the clock. I love these watches, and ruthlessly counting the time. Our time. My.

 Along with the couch, though old, but tasteful and constructed. He adores the distance and the audience and is quite frustrated when after week no one comes to us. I love to spoil him gently covering him with a velvet blanket. He has a buddy who does not love me, but enjoys my old couch (how pleasant that they are so friendly collectively!) . A buddy has a fluffy tail, four rebounds along with a fairytale name - Cheshire. He always comes in the night, warming his frozen paws and studying everything with unseen eyes. Cheshiresky is too old, sick and capricious. He, too, such as me, does not like the winter cold, loves cold milk along with a lengthy terry scarf, which he inherited from... but no, that is not our story. The scarf always sleeps beneath the seat, also Cheshire goes away. And I always start to be afraid, and maybe I will not see him again. But I don't dare to detain him - he has his own life full of surprises. Life is a mysterious phrase. Just like eternity, time.