Читать книгу She miss you - Lerysol - Страница 24

The violin is pitiful. The silence of the morning café. Colombian grains drive you crazy with their aroma. Porcelain thinnest containers, holding their breath with offerings. The crunch of the top crust of flour delights, and then soak up the receptors. The French notes are mixed. It’s time to be yourself. Early larks. Boredom envelops me. More than a dozen legalized joint thousands of nights. The funny thing is that no one imposed the peaks with goals, on their own. Exclusively spying on the environment with their values, life, cockroaches, to meet the level. Drawing from the lock, they climbed in their own way. Vulgar sighs on a huge walk, I get bored with my hands, lips, stereotyped movements. The boredom of cyclicity. Sometimes it was windy, stormy to the point of madness. Fattening the flesh of the inner characters, nourishing them freshly. Selfish? In any case, the boundaries of permissiveness along the way were subject to constant correction. Changing tactics, collecting cases of friends, with brainwashers. They were shattered, then reassembled and reassembled with the tips, glued. It spilled, seeped out, again silently squeezing the coral, climbing. They talked incessantly – in the hope of working, understanding, realizing, adjusting, pursing their lips into blood, yielding to circumstances. Helped? At the moment, like an ambulance, and then again with his teeth. They burned, stabbed into splinters, kicked, pouring degrees.

Paths of discontent with emotions. Shaking out their furious, predatory things, they lifted up a fluttering white cloth and surrendered to each other again, raking with torn palms. Licking streams of salty tears with the bristles of their tongues. Books are common, pages crease for the possibility of returning after. Funny. The past is in the past, but occasionally whitewashing the cells with past deeds, surfacing to the surface, we forgive the ungrateful. Madness. Gray and hard dirt is difficult to wash off. Pity? A seemingly endless routine of the same words, movements, nods and others in co-authorship. It flew by in an instant. Rules and statuses impose boundaries in words, scandals, opinions. The madness of movement is solely for the amusement of its own, ridiculous significance. Sharika will get bored – and nullify the presumptuous ones, created in moments. Silence. Unspoken misunderstandings are thrown into the inner basements. Difficult, but passed. Upbringing? Nonsense, it is almost impossible to resist the external environment that arouses interest in those who make their way through the asphalt. It attracts you to turn it over, to turn it over, to roll it up, having listened to it. We gathered, stretching out our hands, enough to the oncoming wardrobe, to sort through the colored junk. What for? Neatly arranged, hung by flowers, by the smells of memories. The night is more comfortable in different ways, tactile ones no longer attract. Imperceptibly, the paths were scattered with interests, glances, and various ways of feeding with energy. Joint projects have been completed. Every breath, more often exhalation, is thoroughly studied. Sneaking steps, whispering for other people’s rooms, entertainment, so as not to go off the rails completely. Strangers tend to calm down, they are overwhelmed with recipes, repeating what they have overheard as if they were wound up, not letting them pass through themselves in practice. not letting it deep into itself, it no longer touches you. Those who have to grow up will grow up, no worse and no better, in a similar pursuit of comfort as candy wrappers. It’s funny, the data of dozens in the passport were supposed to provide experience, but in fact they filled me with a penetrating feeling of confusion and fear. Dusty. No one knows at any stage how to do it right.

Slammed. “It’s sad. I didn’t understand everything, but I felt sad. Why? Affected. Violin motifs evoke something special. Vacuum. Apparently, I can’t find a psycho similar to me. She is indifferent to success. Age. Pedigree. The presence of the past. I love it by the ocean, scattered with a star. The surf gently massages. Infinity. Smiling at the scorching one. The dog hides with a cold nose. Be quiet. Light-heartedly. I like to saturate with my own energy. Self-sufficient? I guess. A little more interesting than others, apparently. But your puzzles are not enough. I missed you so much.”