Yuri Vizbor. Breakfast overlooking Elbrus (№ 308001)

Sometimes I was tempted downright feminine curiosity: who is she, man? What a Prince and that the coach met her on asphalt roads whose cracks hastily filled in the spring and are full of stains from the crankcase oil? What he told her? What was offered? I would like to know how much she appreciated my life. <...> We talked and talked, sometimes reaching almost telepathic understanding of each other. The connection of our bodies become a continuation and confirmation of the other, indescribable connection connection of souls. I tried to love what he loved for many years. All the arithmetic of life was in those days against me. I was only higher mathematics of love, which we both solemnly believed. Not only that - we've got our own language, and that cryptographic communication was the surest sign of true feelings. No, the alternative, my life did not exist. But one night, she firmly and evil broke this life. Love is not peculiar to causation, and I never would have asked the question - what for? But sometimes I'm curious to know - at what price?