When you leave for the third time in a week forever, I want to leave a note: "Cutlets in the fridge, the shirt is ironed, you're going to leave this evening again, do not slam the door, I'll be up early in the morning."
The banal stage of doubt and uncertainty, through which all pass. You can, of course, get an ax, quarrel, fall in love, make up, but I'm a princess, Turgenev's young lady, I should not behave like a lady.
You are the source of my inspiration, from what you are, wings grow, next to you I'm always laughing. But you are also the biggest splinter, frightened by every rustle of a pheasant, an elephant in a porcelain bench, dropping its hoofs in curiosity to the window, and then naively inquiring: "How did it break, and was it not so littered with shattered fragments?"
We are not always given what we want, but always what is needed. Candy is delicious, but high-calorie. You can eat, you can not eat. But there is also upset, standing on the scales, in my opinion, wrong.
It's always difficult and frightening to talk about love. And with you I'm not afraid. I do not even want to think why.