There is plenty of time for a human being to master the habitual adult life: eating tidily, using the underground¸ holding back one’s tears when feeling pain or fear, smoking, putting on airs, telling lies, manipulating, doing something well… but, in fact, a human being remains a child. Childish dreams turn into adult plans, as for the rest – there’s no time for growing old. A person has not time for it. Life is too short. There is either a dream or disappointed ambitions. In essence, does it make any difference – being seven or forty years old?

Within the stream of unconscious rapid growing-up, there is always that feeling of “tomorrow”. Waiting for something, that is beyond the regular world of a human being.

Waiting… Life is a game, but it is quite possible that that our life is waiting, as well. Waiting for tomorrow, for changes, for happiness, for a chance, for death, for a meeting, for future, for love, for punishment, for heaven, for God… Hope or beware…

Someone is grateful, someone is defensive, someone is carefree and jolly, someone is patient, someone is marveled, losing and finding… Someone has a dream, other’s life is like a dream, but there is always waiting, waiting for the beginning and the end. Waiting in the river of life.

Inspired by Samuel Beckett “Waiting for Godot”