Your love for me is waning already. Maybe it wasn't born long ago, it could have been just an imaginary dream, if at all. I was degraded to a pointless target because I couldn’t find you, and because you didn’t take your wise-valiant will to seek it at all, even though your existence, like a hot sunset, with a wounded heart, I was thirsty! And I couldn't get enough of it!

Your eyes, which never gave up, cherished Hope, and if you had to, humble, charming, and eloquent with joy lamented by the betrayal of blood pains! - our passion could only have been an undeveloped stubborn, protrusion on the altar of our deserved passions: How far our iris-kissing warfare, missed in its flower, fades: A charming and naive series of child-kisses who still dare to believe

I took your hands even when you had fragile bones far away from me, and I know, “Our vulnerable conscience has been deceived and betrayed too many times. "Around us, they tremble in the form of gently trembling tears, tiny meteors, asteroids, and when your sprained, beautifully arched, graceful and foamy ankle, you could have rested on the shoulders of my shoulders with a calm will as a helping force!"

I condemned - believe me - silly, ulterior motives too! I saw you, your dear lily head, the autumn beating light, as if you were caressing her, her naughty love babbles - now it makes no sense to just follow me with a silent stream of tears, still lingering, in case you return to me with little girlish mood, but your wedding ring and adult to put things in order, - I don't want

if you hate me because you are still dear to me: Perhaps the immortal Inheritance is still breaking your petals in front of you: There is still a murderous farewell trembling in our souls, an unforgettable memory…