Читать книгу She miss you - Lerysol - Страница 17

Rain. Beats. Beats. Beats. Shameless. Vulgar. Narcissistic. Peeps. Laziness, shackled mercilessly, does not let go of the limbs. Envelops. Champagne of yesterday is a fog. Down blankets are crumpled, scattered. Pillows cry with the remains of the lip. Tights are torn in several tears. Sleepy. Tired of meetings with templates. More and more among the services meetings with secretive sociopaths, amusingly disguising themselves with the matter of politeness, especially getting bogged down in the codes of technology. trackers, but in general a dream with buns. Shuddering. Bed. The rain is impudent. Coolness on the body with goosebumps. Spring. Special. It is impossible without the feeling of being in love. Pink petals wither inside.

Rain. Spoiler. He is amused. Bam. Bam. Bam. It thunders, waking up, playing its own. Sometimes one touch is enough to reach the first letters, carried away by the lips from the breath of thoughts inside, and there is a gray abyss. On the screen there are a ton of unanswered, similar, lonely, condemned to loneliness. There is mortal boredom. It’s burned there. Without attractions, languid gray. It spins a whirlpool of similar strategies, twenty-four, no more. Aroma of coffee. In an immense bed with a star. Forgive? What do you mean? Not negotiable. Tougher. Slightly arching the back for the pleasures of oncoming people. Massage with obedient tips. Softness. Woolen. Stupid. Empty cries of devotion.

And the rain. He plays hard. He indulges. Over there. Over there. Over there. There is a knock on the tin of the windowsills. Collected things, instantly resetting connections, a new offer without guarantees, but with sweet texts. Risk. It’s possible. But the potential is exciting smells. Budgets. Unlimited cards. A little warmth. The heart is sizzling in the frying pan, uncomfortable on the flame. There are those who are used to being dissatisfied with attempts, especially when they are unsuccessful, trampling to shreds, mixing the best with dirt, spilling aggression, losing word combinations, and then swallowing the prescribed ones. Funny, spoiled. Filters mask the tin of reality, the sand pours down, counting its own. The effect of a puddle, it is known that you will be all splashed with someone else’s depression, failures, jumps in aggression, but you forget and warm in the spring you lead to the rooms, burning yourself in the silence of the wild jungle, and it is in this one that the archived is launched, and there is a darkness of mold, you smile silently with gratitude to the reciprocal silence. Archiving the funny former. And the rain does not allow you to sleep, rambles, disturbs, calls to breathe fresh.

Slammed. “Difficult, difficult, divide the sentences. Tell a smooth, accessible story. Let them spy on other people’s actions, luxury, entertain wandering readers with sweet content. But it’s up to you. How are you doing? Are you cold? Sun? Wind? Rain by the scruff of the neck? Are you messing around? And I have a vacuum. I catch temporary comfort from loneliness. Holding licks at a distance. Swallow. Until the shift. And you? The dog has been visiting for a long time, the one she wanted. No aggression. Apparently, those who will not survive without warmth are drawn to me. Purposeful, with a blond smell. He meets me wagging. He sees him off sleepily. He pokes his nose into the bag. He smells food. The chomping woman rejoices. He wags, feeling like a master in nature. Missing you. Really. Stupid. I have prepared tons of warmth for you. I want warmth, with my lips in the palm of my hand. Emptiness without you, despite the movement outside. Fly in. Hear? I’ll kiss you. I’ll spoil you. I missed you.”