I remember you

Just opening her eyes, she knew that today something will happen. And this something will certainly be very important. In the window were smiling winter sun, and that smile gave her hope, which was lacking in the last days and months.

Humming an Aria from the Opera, she was going to work. "Probably in a good mood due to the upcoming holiday", she thought. — After the New year. And in the New year come true even the most unexpected desires and dreams."

Desire to she has was one thing. But a large. Every Monday, she watched the program "Wait for me", crying, not hiding tears, seeing how happy the meeting after a long separation of people, and with a sinking heart waiting that is about to show the person she is looking for for for several years. Every day she went to the site of this transmission, looking for their application, and dry "message for the occasion there" was met by her tightness.

Sometimes she stopped believing, but she was afraid to admit it even to herself.

And then she took out the old letters, read them over, and faith come back again. He wrote: "I'll be back in no other way. The main thing is that I have you." And she waited. Waited and believed, that in one day he necessarily will return. Sometimes she prayed that he would forget her, marry her, raise children. Let it be so, she whispered, just alive. Just would not happen anything with him, but would not have met bad people on the way, not health deteriorated. Let forgotten, even lost the address he knew by heart. Let betrayed, believing empty promises, because the children were then again, maybe the other was found on the way. If only not... continue to think she was afraid, and the word is terrible I could not say aloud or to yourself. Memory is clearly painted his image. A favorite and far image. Young, Jolly and noisy she his remembered. Knew, knew that the years certainly changed him, but could not imagine him a grown man, but a boy who is so much fun, only for her smile with photos. Only she wore flowers, hid them under a jacket in the winter, just painted it in the album, only her hands warmed and never dared to kiss her. For some reason, the memories of it were always winter. Their first walk through the snow-covered streets: raise your head and watch the purple night sky falling snowflakes, and laugh with happiness. Because intoxicating his presence is near, drunk with the timid touch of his hands, not afraid that the house will scold for being late, nothing at this moment not afraid, just standing here, not moving, hold the hand and feel as light, weightless and carefree, happy like a whirling head over to snowflakes. Ever after that into the arms of strangers wasn't spinning head, never a man's love and passion did not give such a flight and such full of inspiration that seem to hover over snow-covered houses, over the smoke from the chimneys, over the luminous Windows and the tops of the trees.

He left, never telling her those words, but then it didn't matter. Then it seemed important not to show that upset, not to cry at all, but cleverly gluing a smile to trembling lips and wishing a happy journey, hiding his eyes. Because seeing a dumb question and reproach on his face, she couldn't, just couldn't seem indifferent and cheerful. After all, he was leaving. Been away for a long time — maybe forever. He went to a country where people spoke their language, but this country has never been and will not be her native. And she hated this country she wanted to go to since she was a kid, because she took it, the man who woke her up in her weird feelings. She didn't know what they are, but somehow during the night, lying in bed, when she was spending hand over his lips, she was hot. Then there was growing up, the first clumsy attempts to fall in love, then kiss. School, exams, prom and first man. There were feelings, there was passion, but often, looking into the eyes of familiar men, she tried to find the answer to the question, why are they all so not like him. A few years later she received a letter. Strangers like handwriting, but for some reason made my heart pound. A couple of phrases, timid Hello and address. And again the familiar feeling of flying over the purple sky. She waited so long, searched for this feeling in other people's beds, hot hugs and crazy kisses. But it was not. Now just looking at the printed letters, she again felt like a thirteen year old girl holding hands boy living in a neighboring yard. And if there were these long years of separation, wisdom, broken wings, the UPS and downs. As if no one ever touched it nor hands, nor thoughts remains ready.

A letter in response, she wrote a few days. Fit on one notebook sheet of paper the whole curve of your life: work, College, marital status, rains and plans. The answer came as gentle as the first kiss, writing, and all that once could not or did not have time to say to each other, were burning on pieces of paper in the box. She wrote long letters about loneliness, separation and unfulfilled hopes, and he answered briefly: "Wait, I will come, I will embrace, I will wipe tears". And she waited. Kissed the pages, touched their hands, wished good night photos where he smiled just for her, and waited for the letter. And that snowy day, New year's eve came a letter. He wrote that he loves, will always love, eternally, now that he's not at home, that will be a trial. That separation is a very long and scary. What to expect not all will be able. All the more for thousands of kilometers from each other. I've always wanted to say that I love her and in every female person looking for similar traits. What about daughter of dreams — just as she is. Here are just destined to see this come to pass?

She had no doubt. She knew to wait will be as long as need be. The main thing — to wait.

But the letters stopped.

A year passed, then two, then another and another. Letters were not.

And even the all-powerful program "Wait for me" was silent about her case. Someone found someone, someone was happy. And she does not hide the tears wept for them and wanted only one thing — would still be alive.

And never, ever fly in the purple sky. And the snowflakes were quite ordinary pieces of frozen water.

And this morning, somehow it's a strange feeling. Like you know what you're in for a gift, but not sure what.

Today the snow was extraordinary, ridiculous to slip your boots on the road, and the neighborhood kids have fun playing snowballs. I wanted to suddenly laugh in the voice, smile to passers - by and wave mittens playing the guitar long-haired youngster. The sun was eyes and she did not even have time to notice rushing at the speed of the car. The pain was very sharp and fast. It became hot and stuffy, I wanted to get up, to run somewhere, towards the swirling over the head of the snowflakes and for some reason a bright purple sky.

And somewhere far away too, it was snowing. And a man looking out the window of a fast train, smiling at the snow like an old friend who knows his secret. He knew that he was going where he remembered waiting, and that makes it lighter on the soul and no longer scared of the dark sky.

Author:  Samira Kuznetsova  http://www.romanticcollection.ru/lovestory/story/ya-tebya-pomnyu.html