Блог автора методики коррекции веса Нелли Кешишьян

понедельник, 5 мая 2014 г.

You write me Monologue. В этом городе холодно. Читает Нелл



                            


(I know you do not like the mere mention, and you'll be laughing at all! But ...)

And once I'm gone.
Only will these words that are immortal.
These feelings, they hit the wall, and I can see the sparks from these attacks.
They will not dissolve, even in contrast to me, a mortal.
They are like an eternal monument, will never be forgotten,
And they will be transmitted from person to person.
And they finally feel like I loved you.
It would be nice to live so long and so long, to love and to love you,
You to be immortal, and in any case, do not beat me,
Do not run away - so I call death.
She's so scary, but let it not come to you ...

In our city, cold, and the artist Claus
Windows porazrisovyval white satin roses.
You write to me that, perhaps, will arrive on Christmas
In our city, cold, and I continue to live.

I miss you, I want to hold your hand and kiss your hand.
I miss ... I'm so all alone, and all the others. I miss ...

Easter over the river hear the bells
You write to me that maybe the summer rush by case.
Bloom quietly in the window geraniums
Fly overnight and day after day on a wall calendar.

I am without you, and I not at all.
I'm all in error, bug, all wrong,
Bad - without you, I'm not entirely.
My eyes, searching never stop.
Heart pounding so hard that I think I would not live until morning.
Yes, I will not survive even this night, not that you find.
Suddenly, here I first learned how to leave.

Sidewalks crimson behind the veil of rain,
Autumn smells spicy spilled, leaving.
You I write that may be, but I will tear the letter,
In our city, the New Year and I'll live.

Of course, I am very sinful, but his love I deserve this paradise.
Although ... Why? Because of heaven without you there.
And if you do not like it, you will return again to earth and live somehow.
I use all of their communications.
But while I'm here, to you some thousand kilometers.
I even, perhaps, tomorrow I can reach you.
And now I'm just worried about the time without you.
Bad ending, sad, but I'll break these sheets. They can also vomit?
Now all. Yours.


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