Book: The tale of the suicide. Page 3

I sometimes cry. Self-pity is easier than to keep the pain inside...

Crying, like laughter, can be contagious.

... and my always cold hands... I wanted to warm up next to her!

- Excuse me, please, thank you, excuse me, just one person wanted to get me drunk, to make her my wife, and I would have died from misery with him...
Rich, Yes, they are...
I immediately replied:
- And flowers - no. Recently one guy gave me a bouquet of flowers, which was more than a hundred roses. And I don't know how to hint that I need to take with food...
- Food, TV shows and a warm blanket at night? he added.
- Chamomile tea is still possible! - I smiled.
- Wow, frankly!
Why? - I smiled all the time. Every word had a smile.
- I never drink chamomile tea but would drink with you. Right now.

For a split second feel special.

Those two I was very comfortable: they radiated a warmth and kindness.

Very strange, but seem even more cute than strange.

I knew that someday I will tell about all, but not now.

Beautiful, by the way, rose. Probably, you will put them in a vase so they die slower?

You know? We are incurable romantics, dream of what will never happen.