Torso behind your face

 
Maybe you just wanted to be a sure-loving Dear, in whose lap you can still lower your tired head, children playing happily, who are either exalted to the heavens, praised, or just cursed by your name and peculiarities.

This beautiful Kort, without cat-and-mouse mortal quarrels, when everything is noticeably connected to everything and two loving hearts finally find their way into each other.

Only this loan kiss, loan romance, which is merely enough to repay with poems and a set of compliments. You didn't even want to think about anything else; the rye count of the Autumn accountant melts into one with the honey drops of the champagne, which started to spawn.

And that you’ve always borrowed Being a bit as a gift.

Maybe that's all you wanted. And then, with solemn humility, you would have stepped out of history early in the age of fifty at the age of one, which could not have skimped you with unworthy, humiliating spiritual wounds either. As the things packed for the journey are guaranteed, they anticipate an unworthy mixture of farewell and homesickness.

Or you were just trying to leave literary clues in great modesty at all costs, in vain. – Maybe you wanted to become a single true pearl yourself so you could stay a little more gathered in terms of what keeps addressing you.

But – may be - there is nothing left but to choose the raw, semi-finished sentence: Avoid life in a grand arc and accept it. Or maybe to gather your remaining anxious hairs and hide the iris-living beauty and nobleman in a gold medal with tragic suddenness, which may have remained faithfully from you.

Maybe you just wanted Him to squeeze into the heart of the beginning and pile up with tearful kisses on the remnants of your last judgment hour, as you would have tried to find the immortal, radiant happiness of the Universe through your One Life!