Imagination and reality both occur quite close to each other. Closing my eyes I see infinitely created with no borderline huge world, hidden behind my eyelids. The world of dream, of sleep, the world out of wakefulness. Like Alice in Wonderland, so many things being inside me, I dream about, I haven't been able to understand, recognized and unravelled yet. Maybe because of that I've decided to stay here little more, to understand myself a little better, to overcome my shame, my embarrassment, or simply if I can say in such a way to play my imagination populated by alive people? But perhaps reality is something like dream, a screen of projection of my dreams, or can find its shape just by the imagination? I feel fragrance, aroma, smell, i hear the swoosh of the wind, like i would listen to the swoosh of surf moving closer the sea shell to my ear. The swoosh full of silent whispers from more and less distant parts of world's corners. Words for what it's worth to be here? Not for all ones and not always. To play the life or to live the game?