Читать книгу She miss you - Lerysol - Страница 25

The sun denotes its own presence, luring it out, and then gives it to the wild wind to be torn to pieces. The wind governs the city, appointing, lowering, calculating without help. A temporary alien manager, cynically undressing the beauty of deciduous necklaces, exposes the shy. Nakedness is covered by the latter, and he bites in like a blood-stained tiger, consciousness is turned off. With the tip of claws, predatory fangs to the last capillary. And they? they shrink, bend in an attempt to survive, to be liked. The old ones, especially when they are lonely, want to be liked, ask stupid questions about how they look. They scan emotions, show concern, duplicating mirror gestures. At the same time, there is probably someone who is waiting for her, an alternate airfield in full, chartered for the endless. Pause. Interests are developed – the desire to get out. To change the swamp of routine. Of course, it is potentially necessary and there are plans for the future. A short leopard, excessive laughter at banal jokes. Maintaining a conversation, trying to be interesting, supporting, throwing, splashing out like a waterfall what you have previously heard, of course, without delving into the essence, from similar weighed, demonstrating versatility. Cute runs out of steam, it is enough for 5, 7, 10, then she brings herself closer with a luxurious mane, coquettishly approaching, moving away like a pendulum, surfing her pupils according to his interest, amusingly balancing, good. She admires his forms, letting go of kind, quiet, but affectionate ones. And he? A fan. The peacock, stuffed with compliments, fluffing out its tail, giving out its first guttural faces, flowed into its frustrations with worries, emotional sobs.

I got ready. Glancing at the clock, reporting his incredible punctuality. Thanks to the wonderful table, strewn with viands, drinks with Colombian flavors, throwing notes of politeness just in case, releasing bulldozers backstage to level the next airfield for critical landings.

Slammed. “How are you? You have autumn in gold, all-consuming geysers with depression. Wave after wave with trains? And the ocean spoils me, with a crimson dawn on a run, like a naughty puppy, playing, teasing. Time jumps chaotically, slowing down, then again rapidly, changing the greeting of oncoming people, new, forgotten past, I pay off with politeness. Viscous occasionally. Protractedly. Exciting. By the beginning of twilight, she is often completely morally squeezed out. I alternate physics, giving preference to youth, discarding stupid attempts to find a similar person on the head. Setting boundaries for sleeping alone. Obsessive. The ocean, you know? Only it calms you down. Allows you to relax, massaging your fingertips gently. A little less? Waves. Sometimes nightmarish tsunamis do not allow you to sleep. The clang of greedy cynicism cannot be overcome. Or maybe you will get out? Come, do you hear? Miss. Lips on the cheek, hair on the palms of the hands missed to tears. I want tenderness.”