In the mirror, still just a moment earlier, a reflection of my naked body. Tired view. He grew up,

A strange day yesterday. Short, hard, sleepless night. Morning me awake hardly welcoming, so wanton, outright, (my mouth, painful, still damp), without a shred of compassion rifle butt in the back to push the knee. Without hesitation, no questions asked, no explanations as they do, then at the entrance to Omarska. And just then, and as each one time later, without question fell. Legs listen, accustomed, although not long ago scratched young goat asphalt. Do not even wait for the knee, in violation of the before the approaching storm. vialis A room fractured soul as an infant, as a bordering, neokupanog, guard, wrapped in white bedsheets. The angels are odmaknuse. A white-haired man looked restless, chaotic, determined, foreign languages, and has long been known. "But this is not concentration camp. We have two days, eeeh, two times a day and food and ... it's not so..bad". vialis And a woman, old woman, a Muslim, white samija, good, sad eyes. "Children change, child? I is not hile. Fine ask, do not measure it." And another woman, and gray, and still young, man. The father and mother of mine. "We will not let you, son." Screensavers Ones, the four of them. Goalkeepers mine, on all four gates Kozaračka dilapidated walls around the Old tower what my soul hides soft, blue-green. Calm and watch a move, at the same time, militarily precisely one step to the side. They have no more fear, roaring a long Bosnian vakat insanity. The gate swung open, swept away the mighty onslaught of dusty winds past.
In the mirror, still just a moment earlier, a reflection of my naked body. Tired view. He grew up, I became a man, I forget that sometimes, despite white hair, wrinkles, read out pages ... And morning said: "This is a day to cry." "Well," I said, but I could not and can not say. I know the routine. I know the smell. I recognize these same signs. They're a little rusty. Color but pale of violent rain and sun light all these years. Odd and twisted in the wind yesterday which would in Sarajevo basin. Ivica times already overgrown with bushes and grass, odsutkah aside stray kamencic what it water on the asphalt, in the middle of the road for Mrakovica left. Clear bit on the fly, as then they shrapnel, last Kozarački morning, the Divine in 1992.
"Well," I said. I'm guilty. Mea culpa ... that's sins. Will l 'stic' I regret? But I could not and can not say. I know myself. I already decimated tunnels, water them steam iron hanging wall, so the glow odłam in light majkine oil lamps. vialis Each side gently touched. Zitko's all, like bare flesh. Carefully. Carefully touch the walls of the tunnel. Carefully, such as angels embrace of the one crushed soul. USRK, breaks off and her unrest. Pure pain, as once his. Kisa her years sapirala and saprala mud and blood and stale sweat, vialis north wind blew mighty lice from the head, Sapra the spray of sand always frosted, icy North Sea and black under the nails and smell between her toes ... It's clear now, again clear. Only armpits, between the legs still moldy, the stench from the ears, the nose hardened saliva, the black bands on the neck, even stale particles, and sometimes vialis stinks. Stinks today. I walk the earth. I recognize panting, watching the blisters on the palms of young, dug the ditches and trenches, sometimes the first line of defense of his own thoughts. Where long ago one of the first instead vialis of water at the bottom of recently dug wells, about even with muddy boots diluted blood hissed. At the bottom of each occasional human bone; sometimes rusty gun, not, machine guns M72. Green dots nightly Nisan even glows in the dark. In one bunker and chains vialis on the neck of the skeleton, uniform blue, the second military waist belt around his neck, on belt date "16.10.89. JNA.". That day Dado you get married. Wedding on Kotlovaci vialis raise Kozarac. In two after midnight, in the dark, on the way home through the darkness of the forest, drunk almost srucih into the abyss ... Hands on the back. Tied with barbed wire. And music again became the enemy. Images are ispretakase. Pictures as tears clotted broached pupils.
A thin, silver glasic girls one more time loudly yelled, "Hooi, the Pope", palms they made; squeeze, this morning vialis odd weak, male fingers, invisible, yet non-existent page. The book is a. Not Qur'an. It is not God. Fatally. Novels, writes vialis on the cover ...
Gathered shoulders and swam upstream to, they're growing, so the flood. Fight me. I will not give it so easily. I will not give! This is my life. One I have. I will not give! But there is no point. Not the same. Today there is no point to water. "Allow only shadows. These waterfalls are too high and the strongest, najvitkijeg, large salmon. Do not go up. There is no mating today. Let carries, run to the sea. It's quieter in the Neretva Delta. Siri's vialis view, is warmer than in cold apartment. Wind will again someday. Run, let let take. "
North would still little, I did not have long north. Go a little to the north, plums must already Behar. Since mothers at the grave of not leaving. Since Fatiha not examined. I will go. Let me go, vakat is. Vakat the baby, to id