yesterday was moving party - I have friends who brought my things and one man
quite by accident (went by) participated too
he carried my box of books and than asked: could I have a look - sure - than we
talked about books - rather ridiculous of course - and he said - you are the
first person I can talk with here - only TV and sports are things which interested
others

and later we stand on balcony - and talked about Russian authors - we both were
in love with Dostojevsky and both knew by heart Lermontov and Puskin in Russian
,,, somehow it was beautiful : this poetry in Italian evening :
voda i kamenj
ljod i plamenj
ne tak razlichni
mezh s soboj

,, at this moment I have such a feeling that only
books is the real world,, ,he took one my book - Illusions,,, and now I am
waiting to ask how it was ?

but, of course, tomorrow will be the new day with new dreams ,,,,