When One - I Smile, Because To Me

When one - I smile, because to me it is good. Very much I doubt, whether you represent that I here so - with you that all my life to edges and hardly above - is filled by you. Today I hardly. Has understood, why I so love you. Sat in one tiny room where was two mirrors - one opposite to another. And, if to look in one, - it turned out eight me moreover I - not in a mirror - only nine. Them, it appears, much - in me, here and a simple explanation thanks to this mirror effect. No, Egor, all the same you do not imagine, as my existence - you as it is a lot of you - at me is filled. To re-read - it is a shame: helplessly, not and droplets of that is. And your presence here, nearby, you feel so that here give a hand - and you will touch your hand, pull hardly - and lips - to your temple. I very much love you. Absolutely. More - it is impossible. It is possible differently: more reasonably, more silly, more kindly, more fiercely, any lists can be - only more - does not happen. Who there - in the sky, who - in hands: a titmouse or a crane? I want you - in hands.

And Pretty Often Happened Then That For One

And pretty often happened then that for one days met two-three different beauties. I was as extreme! Proceeded so month-two-three, half a year, and I have started to feel deep internal anxiety. No, business consisted not in physical weariness was to sleep off or appear on distant business trip (where, however, I too did not put on a hand) as the sports form, excuse for expression enough, was completely restored. Inconvenience had internal character: the kind person who was not bearing ill will to anybody, I has appeared a source and the generator of severe troubles. Round me whipped , there were abortions when I coolly declared to the woman trembling in expectation of the destiny that the child is not necessary to me, and it, however, let arrives itself as to it will take in head. Another's families fell, tragedies were created, and happened that women proud until then sat at the winter frosty nights motionlessly on a bench under windows of my apartment or toiled on the battery at an entrance, but I did not leave and did not start up them to myself because they in any trifle were guilty.

About, What Flour And What Pleasure Was So

About, what flour and what pleasure was so to sit and look here - eyes in eyes!. Anything it was not necessary to speak. It it is hardly audible has moaned, has sharply risen and, ugly dropping to a sick foot, it was literally threw out away from a door. And I remained to sit the patient from the accepted cocktail in which as I understood, have already been added not only pity and respect. Has sat out, has recovered the breath, has come to the senses, has tried to tyre out somewhere in a vault persistently exacting, but an unsoluble question: "Well, why, why it is impossible to be both with that, and with this?" When I went home, a foot for a foot has recollected, what exit - according to a legend - was found from a similar situation by the well-known American writer Jack London. Of it as if have grown fond two equally fine soul and a body of the woman and not to afflict any of them, painfully being tormented with a choice problem, it was shot. I dare to believe that hardly the similar decision has pleased these remarkable ladies, certainly worthy its love.