Voice from above, I hear it... Forgive Dima, I love you, know.
Предисловие: I don't smile almost, I don't want.... and what for? he reads and doesn't respond, for certain understanding that it he will kill me after all so it is impossible with feelings... it is impossible... I pay the third day. headaches, school the house, the house school, day routine, rains, and I go in an easy jacket under a shower and I pay... cold and... the cold scolds to goosebumps, to a shiver, all books in a briefcase the wet... phone is completely flooded by rain water, you try to touch feverishly feet quicker to escape from ice кристалликов waters, but only you stumble... you splash so in autumn boots on pools, and those already completely got wet... you go and sniff, you try to distract on something, but around only water and yellow leaves... Eyes hurt from tears, heart hurts from everything that happened. Simply there is a wish to believe that it is a dream that sooner or later I will wake up, will be the first of August. One day. One more day of happiness. Day of happiness which in two days will be replaced with gray everyday life, bitterness, gloomy pain and an illness. When from music the head when I can look in one point till some days hurts already. When you don't eat, you don't drink and you hope for the fastest outcome. . When there is no forces to suffer from this pain when you morally don't exist any more, you simply burned down, disappeared, died, evaporated.... when you shout with despair and you tear to yourself sheaves then week you are silent. When there is no wish to live.
I see an angel. Yes, I see it. But why? Ah and. I nevertheless died.... But my angel met me... name his Dima.... It the one whom I love in a pattern of angels...