It pains me to look at my old childhood photographs. Because I can do nothing, nothing at all to help that little boy with skinny legs who is looking at me from them. But he doesn’t just look at me, he expects something from me, asks me about something, because his naive present is trying, at least with one eye, to look into the future, open it slightly and see something there. And now, I am his future! But what can I tell him? And that is why I have every right not to love my past, because it keeps him, this boy, locked up there, and I cannot get him out of there. Do you know what I mean? There is nothing more stupid and cynical than the recommendation to remember “something good and pleasant” in your past. Remember, something like this probably happened,” they say in such cases, “it definitely happened!” So be it, so be it... Is that really the point? I cannot forgive my past for the fact that it will never let me see that boy from old childhood photographs with a dead hare in his arms. And what do I care about some of my past “moments of happiness” now? Is this really about me??? You see how much I have already told you unnecessary and emotional things, and I still haven’t opened your letter...