Me with a strange regularity dream the same dream . If he tries to get me to fail, return to those bitterly expensive places where there had been my grandfather's house , where I was born more than 40 years ago right on the dining room table covered with a white starched tablecloth. And every time I want to get into it , I was always something in the way. I often dream of the dream , I'm used to it, and when I see the log walls , darkened by time and the half-open door into the darkness of the passage , I was in a dream I know that I can only dream of it . And joy is overshadowed by an excessive expectation of awakening. Sometimes something happens and I stop dreaming about the house and the pine trees around the house of my childhood. Then I start to miss , I'm waiting and I can not wait for this dream in which I will look again and again like a child shall feel happy of what is yet to come , everything is still possible.