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Julia Mosina
School 93. Barabinsk, Novosibirsk region, Russia

The Question

It's morning. Burning touch of frost.
 I shivered violently. Thoughts are roaming about the highway, crunching by freshfolled snow. They are trying to find the answer. There's vacuum everywhere. But soon just waken up people start appearing in the streets. They don't know what they are feeling. Their hearts seem to get cold for this endless winter. They do not understand what they are running from?  They are afraid of darkness or vacuum or may be inevitability. But I'm afraid of uncertainty and I'm looking for it in the down dust, in the smell of cheap perfume, in newspapers' nonsense, in forgotten shadows of the past. I'm looking for it in foolish dreams, in unfinished lines, in affected words. Being tired, the thoughts have been confused finally, but the Question is still worrying me: "Why do I love all this so much?" I ask myself again and again. I try to understand, but I can't. May be it's really difficult or may be I'm so foolish?
But suddenly I understand, that I'm afraid to confess to myself in simple thing: I love that all because it belongs to me, it's my Motherland, my Siberia, my Life!

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