Читать книгу She miss you - Lerysol - Страница 15

You need such a stranger. Incomprehensible. Special. Eccentric? Self-sufficient. Generous. Cheerful. Kind. Indulgent to whims. Not like others. Predatory. Bright. Charismatic. Caring. Self-nourishing. Loving. Tall. Big. Ambitious. Strange? Stranger? Stranger by the fire. Frozen wood of hypocrisy. Proclaiming loneliness, if without similarity. In the glimpses of the fire, trying to see those who are alike, a little bit, a thread, a cell, a little similar. into the fire – let them crackle, but they will dry out. Scattering the accumulated diamonds, they are worth nothing in the complete silence of the vacuum. Only stars, splashes of the sleeping ocean, tangerines, silence with sand. But the wounds that are with them nourish the bandages. He howled coldly, asking to leave his loved ones. Punishing the shameless, predatory, ill-mannered, at the first stage, not letting their sewer stupidity come closer. There are them, strange, not subject to influence, absent in the nets, with their own opinion, without haste, they do not voice aloud, more often observing the habits of others, sifting. Ridiculous are fears, clogging the planks of the closets of the past, attempts to bury, forgetting that sprouts always break through the rubble of cobblestones, fear of dating, fearing submission, no courage. Grinning, driving into hysterics, only to indicate the boundaries of politeness, it is common for spoiled people to break the boundaries out of boredom. Sometimes, plunging into the circus of gallopers, choosing an angle to capture the successful, participating in the emptiness of the, they select after, swarming, one out of a thousand for external likes. They were brought up by shamelessly irresponsible parental invested greatness, significance, lulled by windy compliments, and then, abandoning one, spreading their paws as much as possible in bewilderment, similar to how after the five-year plan of the higher without a parachute they abandoned with obsolete luggage, unclaimed. Stepping along their own path, whistling with a smile. Immersing themselves in the new, testing hypotheses exclusively in practice, turning off their own clues of smells. Mirroring, mirroring shamelessly, strangers, picked up on the go. Knowingly assuming the imperfection of feelings by years of cultivated touch. Not paying attention to the uncomfortable, brushing aside over time, weighing the aftertaste. Maybe he was not right, she thought she was too exclusive, perhaps there were those who wrote their own. But fears also fetter them. It would be hard together, and we would be beautiful, weighed by adulthood or young at heart inside, not paying attention to passport passports, but we are, as we are. Everyone has their own path, and it is possible that somewhere in a dozen they will cross by chance because of the threads that bind.

Slammed. “How are you? Miss. How about you? How are you? A little warmer? Melted. Sun? Not a cloud? Sport? Pages of books? Girls? Bits? Dance? Do you still meet the sunrises? Fly. Sent. Inconsistency. I recognize it in moments. Attempts to buy for cheap. Fly in. Do you hear?”