Lyubol

< Leah Altukhova



You know, Mom, and the sea is his eyes.
And every day I dipped into it mentally.
At some point in our lives has become a station,
In which there is no idle train platforms.
No one will come to me there is nobody better to meet.
(I am wrapped in a scarf is a scorching breeze.)
I - stupid rebel, I never knew how to be silent,
I dearly cost the last mad whim.
On my lips layers lies salt.
On the skin more and more new wrinkles.
City have been studied across and along,
But ...
to go I can not find the reasons.
Most spring, and the heart is the same ice.
It is fragile, but do not dare to break it.
You told me that gets someone waiting,
But, damn it, I do not know how to wait.
And unrealistic expectations fail in my scheme ...
I - broken freak, this sea - my bed
. I Kuta, as if in a blanket, in verdigri surf.
It's worth it ...
so each time so to die? ..