Love?Yes, yes it is like the feeling of a man, not to eat, not to the spirits of expansions that are on the shelf or even a child's toy.He?every now of someone thought or remembered something.Love for his son?No, not about the love in question.Namely that, whose name is pronounced Strood!Do you love?Yes immemorial and in general is already bored with the whole question!You can even talk much on this subject, there will be many disputes and misunderstandings.So I will not give any thought philosophy, as many have said, and I can navryatli something to add to it.I only want to show an excerpt from a letter to the soldier.
«Hello, dear.You asked whether you did not forget, but how can you?They say that himself do not remember?but it is in vain.Well, nothing you'll remember, I chrono you, you in me.As the day.I remember you were standing in the form, you had a lot, probably 500 people and are all the same, and you are asked what you're different, so I did not answer, just not enough time.And there was no
"Just the smell of you so, so special, with a touch of tobacco and tenderness. In him, love is not difficult. I have and are afraid you have nothing, no one hurt, but if you accidentally embrace to the pain, so it is I am ready to endure. Andthe evening hugs are free, and his hands are soft, they are a reflection of your soul. As for like a lullaby hummed under a bed no big deal. And in the morning, morning coffee on you will not wait, hand spend on the face, and you do not wake up, you can dream it-That magic. And I do not dream dreams for a long time, you became my dream, my nightmare and delight, like a drug, you know? I look at you sometimes and I know you trust yourself, not your lips, not the shoulders, and trust yourself, your soul.And me another and do not have lips kiss your every will, and I hand I want to hold, want to, and happy with me, and the tears did not hide when hurt. After all, I'm nobody, I'm for you. Write to me in the shower, in a clean notebookin me will always be your pain, your pleasure is all yours, discharges of the fingertips.In the palm of your prints is already ingrained and who could break our hands.We do not need a ring to prove love, we have a common dream.Have you found happiness in my arms, and I'm the future in your eyes, that of the thousands of soldiers vydatut native. "»
believe in love or not, your work! It's just a letter from smearing tears letters compress soldiers pressed to the heart.