The woman didn't want to leave

The first hour of the night... was Gonna come at ten... trying to Hypnotize the phone, to hurt, to pain in the dried mucous membrane, to white spots in the eyes... Crank the Apocalyptic in the speakers at full power and to hell with them, with neighbors. Pour whiskey into a coffee Cup. Falling on the couch. I close my eyes. Once I was a woman didn't want to leave. I was always just like that. And I thought it will remain forever. With me it was possible to sit up until dawn because I didn't want to leave. To drink the wine. To sing songs under a guitar. To talk for hours. To hold my hand. Want to kiss and be afraid to do it. To discuss all the way up to issues of racism, issues of legalization of prostitution, calorie beer, good teen masturbating and cartoons about Sponge Bob. With me it was possible to stand for hours in the stairwell, warming warm lips frozen hands. To exchange unlimited text messaging "about nothing". I was afraid to come, because it was possible not to leave... With me it was possible to watch any movie in the evenings, and then hoarse to discuss it, even a Comedy in the spirit of "American pie". To me it was possible to arrive late at night because I have nightmares and hide under my blanket from imaginary spiders and Horny maniacs... I was a woman didn't want to leave. And now I became a woman don't want to leave. And it's scary. Scared of his helplessness. Nothing has changed. I remained the same. Smart, interesting, sometimes sad, sometimes funny insanely, sometimes responsible, sometimes completely reckless. I still have a sense of humor, smile, long legs and body line. I'm not fat, not her looks, not stupid and did not start in the evening cross stitching husband's socks and in the morning loudly singing in the bathroom and waving a rolling pin. Nothing has changed. Except for one minor fact. I love... And of a strange, unknown, mysterious women I turned into a rubber doll, every curve, every birthmark, every turn of which is familiar to the pain, because, alas, not interesting. With me comfortable to sleep. I'm going to caress you to the point of exhaustion, to the stars in her eyes, to tremble at the knees. And then I'll give you a massage. Me comfortable to Wake up. I'll bring you coffee in bed will make wonderful scrambled eggs in the "basket" and let me tell you a website with football news. And then kiss your neck and throw the head through your underwear. This familiar, simple, close. Quite unnecessary. It's funny... once I was a lover. Stole people's husbands. Who just could not walk away from me. And it was funny. Wife calls him on the phone... I Think! Well, promised to be at twelve. Well, come at four. What to yell? Is it not clear? He just could not walk away from me! You sleep in peace, will the husband ever. If I release it, of course. Now we will light the absinthe in the glass, will dance a Striptease on the balcony, finish the pasta by hand from the pot, sitting on the floor embracing and dipped in elegant lemon-almond sauce, zakurim last cigarette for two, say in the hundred and first time: "I Want to be with you." And he will come back to you, you're his wife. After all, you eat in the morning in the bathroom, bad voice and going to meet him with a story about the increase in the price of milk, while shaking the pan, and not its delicate body in the clouds silk robe. I am the other. I don't want to leave. That was... Maybe it's time to pay for his callousness... a call to the intercom. Came. No, I'm not going to shake a rolling pin. Swear. To cry. To be offended. Maintain mental conversations, periodically trying to get you out of a blissful sleep. I don't even know what now is milk. Honestly. And I'm not even going to tell you that today itself I bought a white rose in a crunchy wrapper, fluffy bear with a heart in paws, a box of "Raffaello" and a bottle of whiskey. Just because I wanted to see on the bedside table fresh flower in the rays of the rising sun and the scarlet heart in the paws of a Teddy bear. Stupid? Well, let them. I'm not going to tell you about it. I'll just give you Slippers. Put. To wrap up. Will press against warm, tanned back. Slightly kicked, if you snore. Kiss in the seventh cervical vertebra, which unerringly find even in the dark, and a small scar between his shoulder blades. Put a bottle of coke near the bed. And then we'll pour myself another whiskey. Quietly opening the window so as not to Wake you. Smoke. Take the laptop and go to the kitchen. We have to work. You'll need to get the project. Must, must, must... And should be put to cook chicken broth. Tomorrow vkusney'll make you some soup. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow... Tomorrow I'll Wake you with a gentle kiss. If does not help, bite your nose. Will bring coffee. Even hell going to iron your jeans, but hate to iron. Yes, even for a minute! But it will not change anything. The truth is simple, as life.

 I just love you. And you're just not.

Author:  besoin_de_toiС сайта: http://www.romanticcollection.ru