We were familiar for three months. Cropped into electronic networks. Called his "Pooh". This was enough for an endless controversy on the Internet. Did we think what will happen next? Everything happened in one January evening. Flakes fell snow, darkly. He suggested, "let's meet, I'll just hug you." "What nonsense," I thought and rushed to the meeting. Judging by the photo "Pooh" and voice, a joint pastime, nothing long-playing.
Oh God, I hugged a car with a completely unfamiliar to me. What could be more stupid when you are thirty.
After the meeting, it became clear, it would be suffocating - painfully, passionately and may be forever. From the first minute, dating insurmountfully pulled him. I tried to get rid of - not to call, not to write, it did not work. He broke through to me through the buzz of votes and knocked out from avala with thousands of SMS.
It was one "but". He was not free. He was afraid of exposure and wanted to save the family. "We could serve in intelligence, we could play movies, but we like birds in different branches and fall asleep in the subway." It was about us. We had only three hours a day: an hour of lunch break and two hours of the road home. Almost no night and a very insignificant number of days.
Weekends were not mine. Not for me. On weekends and festive, it turned off, lost, closed. For me, his absence was a "little death."
Three months of meetings in a black car, with darkened glasses. Hidden from human eye feeling. Why, well, for what right it was impossible to go outside and shout, "people, I love!". No, they did not allow laws thought out by society.
My thirty-third birthday, a call at 7.00 am, roses are huge, white, - evening in a restaurant on the water and endless "love".
Have you ever composed poems? He wrote them to me. I still have them sacred.
I remember you to the smallest details: hands, lips, smile, eyes, scarves and T-shirts. Even then, with what peculiar only to you, you uttered my name.
Winter, morning, snow. On the windshield black "Subaru Legacy" again scarlet roses. Red on white.
The painted entrance of my red-blue paint - huge snowmatic paws, on the mailbox, steps, doors. And "I love you" under the windows, on asphalt, with a mandatory attribute - heart.
Once he sent me a photo of his son and said: "Look, he looks like you."
We were definitely necessary to save. We ourselves could not cope. The nerves were stretched, the souls are exhausted, the eyes still burned. Another attempt to forget him and courier at the height of the working day: "It is for you, write down, please." I: "Yes, of course, thank you," thirty nine huge, luxurious scarlet roses. "Answer, why, thirty nine?". He: "We were familiar with thirty-nine days, goodbye."
And again meetings, full of tears of the eyes, vertical racing, "My personal grade of heroin", "catchy."
We spoke with letters, symbols, eyes, songs, verses.
Epilogue
All verses disappeared from the site poems. Their of our brief feeling. Where are you, my unforgettable? Return, talk, let's drink tea, and maybe you will want to hug me again, like that, that snow-covered evening, in the back seat of the car. We brought many things.
Remember how with D. We launched a burning heart for you, and you took it out of the window to the camera. Do you have a record? Answer
Everything that remains from you is a collection of unpublished poems and the "Holy Trinity" icon, maybe she protects me, your icon, so far.