The person with whom you feel good...

In childhood we dream of charming princes on white horses. And then grow up, we see the self-sufficiency and success, and the idea of the knight-defender-stone wall seems like a sweet fantasy. And yet deep down each of us wants to meet there. Why often things didn't add up? How to become the main heroine of tales of "happily ever after"? These questions specifically for answer Ksenia Velinska.

It's very simple: learn to listen to your heart.

Sixty million five hundred twenty two thousand six hundred thirty five


The town was in the pre-Christmas rush. Women with glowing eyes and a kilometer-long lists stormed shopping malls, overgrown color packs and skillfully conducted men: they dutifully followed them with batteries of bottles and Christmas trees at the ready. My friend and I were watching General insanity through the window of a coffee shop. Razgovaraju us the girls were talking about marriage.

And that's the life?! – I was perplexed. – Marriage – it's continuous losses. Decreases your youth, beauty, brain cells. Fans hurt in the end. And all this running in the soap with Christmas trees and a shopping bag? It makes someone happier? Like adult uncles and aunts: children have grown, work has taken place, and all as small. And since the morning, but tired and dirty dishes, anything from this tinsel will not stay.

— I too do not understand, why run away? – supported the tone of the conversation friend. – The woman – the mistress of life. It is free, beautiful, interesting, desirable. She can earn money to choose clothes, books, friends, travel and grow professionally. What is a husband? A set of rules and obligations: this wear is not wear, it's buy is not a buy. Well, the classic borscht, socks, curlers... Do about THIS dream?

We were eighteen, we were beautiful, desirable and completely free. The new year was an occasion for us to get another batch of compliments and gifts and not about plasmatica at the plate in the name of some men.

But fate is a tricky thing: while we were talking about the meaninglessness of a serious relationship, she already has me meeting with her future husband and secretly sneered at my ignorance.

At University I was a course leader, and He – his soul. Played guitar on the stairs, gathering around him crowds of girls with languid eyes. Our planet is not particularly overlap.

Died down the new year fireworks, empty bowls Olivier. No reason, no reason at all He called me and offered to walk. Minus twenty five. And somehow I agreed.

We went from cafe to cafe and talked for hours like old friends, though never talked about anything other than notes. For entourage jovial musician I saw an interesting soulful guy. He confessed he was in love with for a long time and seriously, but he did not dare to approach like me: too smart, too untouchable.

Then there was the night telephone calls, hundreds of texts. Were real paper letters long, sincere, heartfelt. Were armloads of flowers, which froze in the cold hand. Was my poetry, which suddenly uncontrollably began to be born in mind. Was his songs that He wrote at night and sang in the morning under the window, coming from the other end of the city to my awakening. It was easy and wonderful sort of fairy tale.

We were together all the time, parting only at night. Fell asleep with phone in hand and woke up again, dialed the same number. Staged a crazy romantic surprises, traveling to cities and countries. Supported each other in the most difficult moments: when I lost my mother, not his grandmother. We've lived together for two years, what seemed to trust each other could with his eyes closed. I stopped to carefully protect their freedom and independence and allowed the heart to drown out the voice of reason. Well, almost let.

Again winter came, and with it — the most magical night of the year. During the gala dinner He suddenly said dreamily, "if we're dressed up a Christmas tree. In our house. Well, we still have a year to prepare. Come on summer get married?"And pulled out the velvet box as a fakir pulls the rabbit out of the hat.

Inside I froze, the blood froze in the veins. Box was opened, I watched an amazing ring, which it was impossible to refuse... And then I imagined myself on a roller coaster at the moment when the cabin ominously slowly climbs to the highest point and now at breakneck speed will break down, and my heart will overflow, and I become a victim of this mindless silly extreme.

No, not that! I'm still too young! "No no no! Unable! Not now! Impossible!"I cried in horror, grabbed my jacket and ran to the street, off like a scalded cat. From the ring, from marriage, from the Golden cage. From shocking trick caught me by surprise. The first real love that was afraid to admit to herself.

We stopped communicating. He was hurt, I was embarrassed. Logically, I had to enjoy your newfound freedom, but for some reason felt betrayed. Itself.

— You did the right thing, said over a Cup of tea a friend, or trying to comfort him, whether seriously. Is them before the wedding so perfect: flowers, gifts, rings. And immediately after the registry office will start another story: my, erase, clean, not with those communicate…

I haven't heard the phrase until the end, because again, he ran, raced, up hill and down Dale, frantically grabbing light burning, frosty air. Fled, like in the movies when the heroine suddenly realized, and it's not too late to fix it. Only in the movies, probably heels do not get stuck on the run in the pavement, ruthlessly destroying your favorite pair of boots.

Ninety eight million one hundred forty seven thousand three hundred six

He opened the door, raised his eyebrows – it was well after midnight. I'm out of breath and looked at him, so familiar, beloved, mine.

Yeah! 'I said solemnly. – Where's the ring?

The next new year's we had my own personal tree, and in another year we dressed her with a new family member – our son. My husband together for ten years, and, of course, I can't believe this figure. Because it seems that it has always been.

Because it makes me feel like this. Can be strong and weak, cheerful and sad, dazzling gorgeous and flattened by the flu on the couch. To lead projects and educate a child to go to the gym and iron his shirts, cook soups and to meet friends. To be myself and become better. To love and to be loved. It turns out that it's all so natural and so incongruous.

By the way, my friend got married only a year ago. Prior to this, unee had Affairs, but they turned that waste of time and nerve cells. The man was unhappy with her weight, and she lived for months on the cabbage leaf. The choice was not very educated, and she tried to "pump" him the "right" literature. Constantly "editing" each other, they achieved the opposite effect: the spring is compressed until it stops, and then shoots — pain, hurt, disappointment.

Everything changed when she understood the main thing: to be together is possible and necessary only with those with whom I feel who makes you telekomi who do you (small roughness does not count). And the first person with whom you feel good, you should be yourself! Because if you do not understand yourself, how can you expect that you will do it to someone else?


We have different love, different love

A little secret in relationships


Even today, the apparent shortage of men and even if you (Oh my God!) under thirty, you can't throw at anybody hoping to change, re. Or to get a free application to elect, looking him in the mouth and fulfilling any whim to the detriment of themselves. You can't build happiness with the Prince-pretender, if your heart is silent, because there's nothing worse than betraying yourself.

And that's when the girlfriend came back, and they remembered themselves and began to live a full life, then, as on wave of a magic wand, then I met someone who loved her completely (with a phone chatter, Marquez and cakes after 18.00). Who even Christmas bazaars and basins Olivier – not the labor service, and entertainment. Oh, and her ring was delivered exactly on new year's night. That's the irony. Or the truth of life. published 


Author: Ksenia Vislinskaya


Source: Ksenia Vislinskaya


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