Miakane

She drinks coffee in the mornings, washing them down with anesthetic, in the evenings, She loves chocolate and chamomiles, She sits in a cafe and peers at the fate of everyone, She walks down the street and so does not want to go home, She does not see the vanilla sky that's so strong manilo and called her once ... just the sky ... She no longer flies ... she no longer falls in love with anyone .... only in herself ... and she is so tired of everything Before the beginning of our end, hundreds more unread "I love", "I can not live without you" "I miss", two kilograms of quarrels because of jealousy, half a kilogram of vdovesok because of mutual pride, bucket beaten ware and bath shed tears ... There is still so much vsego..A can directly send each other the fuck, huh ?! Her thin heel trampled down your soul ... You do not care ... you'll take another's wife ... You'll watch TV, drink beer, And I continue to live the same way ... BEAUTIFUL ... I adore Paris, white roses and lilies of the valley, and drive by car in the night city. Romance for me is walking along the bay by the light of stars and bathing at night, when everything is flooded with moonlight, and the splashes of water shine and shine. Or to rush into the darkness, into the dazzling light of headlights of oncoming cars - the windows are wide open, the speed is not lower than 150 and the music at the highest volume - then really you come off. You're right ... I love flirting, I love to smile, listen to compliments, leave light traces of hope in the hearts of men, but know - I have not changed any of my boyfriend. I'm not insulted, I'm not a bitch at all. But once called - apparently, similar. On the reputation is not worth wasting nerves, For everyone you will not become equally good and it is easier to hear from the enemies "bitch" than to kiss me they will be hands ... Could know how to cry without smearing mascara. Smile when I wanted to scratch my nails on the glass. Go away without knocking his heels on the booming space. Being alone, being alone is the most impossible thing. Died every evening to become quieter in the window opposite. She stopped her breath, not to wake his hand, which fell asleep on the bend of the hip. I built, built, with my own shoulders able to support the arches of air locks, where princes and other fairy-tale characters lived. She was a witch, flying nights naked in the moonlight. In those days, when my worn angel wings handed over to dry cleaning. Her death was small and capacious, like a dot at the end of the message. In general, she was an ordinary woman. She has thousands of photos and she's always different. Never to know what's in her head, you can never even be sure that she's completely yours. It is constantly needed by everyone, and sometimes by anyone. She is childishly naive. Bitch .. Every day you write to me ... You ask "How are you?", - "I'm fine, how are you?", And I smile ... "I'm happy for you!" ... And all .. It's good that you do not see me at home, in a shabby T-shirt, with eyes swollen with tears, with a glass of Martini and a pack of cigarettes ... But you see my status "Jolly !!!" ... And I want to cry myself !!! Never speak of yourself, that you are iron, do not behave like steel, do not say that only weak ones cry ... Every metal rusts, steel bends, but only real women know how to beautifully cry .. -I'm not a girl for the night. I'm night. Forever. - I'm not a holiday - I'm a life, and I'm a complicated thing. -Yes, it hurts and sad. But only sometimes. -And in general, I can perfectly be a bitch. -I treasure, only to see the sum. -It was not able-not destiny. Not destiny - not separation. "I'm a universe, I'm born to die - like every one of us." Circular bail. -My weakness has long been dissolved in wine. -My night is a hurricane. My morning is cynical. Well, who lost - for a long time I do not care ... she does not sleep at night, she falls asleep closer to five. thinks of different dreams and that it is necessary to wake up to seven. of course, barely gets up, begins to look for brains, and coffee for breakfast without sugar burns it from the inside. she again is late, going on the move, dresses in the elevator, and wet hair dries on the street with a cold morning wind on her face. probably, grows up ... and constantly forgets, leaving the house, turn off the light