Андрей, 41 - 28 декабря 2005 02:48

... Ѓ I like you...
It is banal. But I like you.
Up to exhaustion, cannot sometimes separate a side of reason from recklessness, cannot understand what sensation more strongly - a pain or euphoria. I trust you. Selflessly and silly. I cut out on a rock of my memory of a meeting and parting, a word and a mistake. It is enough one your sight to scatter in ashes my tables.

I wish your presence constantly. I wait for you. My life is devoted to expectation and search of your tenderness. This madness. Such life is doomed for suicide. Each your excluded step dries up the River of my Life a drop behind a drop. I am afraid of the love, the unexpressed tenderness and confusion which small needles sticks into my heart. I am afraid, that once its{her} injections appear fatally dangerous.

When you look at me, my heart shivers as a wet kitten. It not for fear is with happiness. I choke and I want to die, because I know - soon you will allocate{remove} the sight and then my heart will be compressed and will cease to breathe, yet does not realize the ordinary happened and in one instant my love - the book at the end of which it is impossible to write “ The End ” will not be hammered in a habitual grieving rhythm …. Each time you enter new lines, cross out old, pull out pages and change titles. You think, that after all « acceptable editions » she looks enough shabbier.
You are not right. I protect her{it}. And if you are strong enough, if not are afraid to burn down together with me, help to me … Ѓ...

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