самолетно

Such a nice wing - sewed up by а hundred white patches - beautiful what men have achieved... We're flying. The mountain peers out from under the wing. Clouds eat the mountain. Down there - fires are glowing - cigarette ends of autumn earth. Ten different colors of water. And all of a sudden clouds fly right at us at such speeds... The sun is setting over white cloudfolds. And I'm flying to you. I could walk in those snow-drifts of sky - our sky. The sky I couldn't know without you. And I'm flying to you. Without knowing if I'll see you. Down there - city constellations full of light. Each patch of light is full of every human thing you could imagine. Full of hope, and love, and innocence, and sorrow, bitterness and anger. Patches of humanness - down there a kid writes letters to another kid. Every night. In this earth sky full of city stars. The first star has risen - at the orange-blue horizon. Yes, the star he sings of. The only constant. My star. You.