Author of quotes: Natalia Perevezentseva. Page 3

These twilight. They will come and cry
shimmering lights, a wave of fog.
Hint: it could be otherwise
removed acute a month out of pocket.

Yard entrance or building entrance -
that's our way. The wind raw -
whether wading, or Baltic -
will not stop a skilled vitesta.
Because we have end-to-end transitions
in the house, the yard and my heart - and the weather
nothing to do with it.
only plaintively: "Whose are you?"
the woman, a Seagull will ask... Rainy
Sunny but invariably beaten
feelings bushing turns, curves.

... so dying Violetta
for the last hour before dawn,
and losing her, Alfred
the temple brings a gun
then comes a still...
Paris is lovely, life is more expensive
lament about past love
and the choice is made.

I have read like remembered.
Slowly, as if thoughtfully engage
perhaps irrelevantly, perhaps, and clever,
in some conversation, interrupted for a long time.

My friend - the weather, the nerves, trains
whistle last summer habits
all read and perobject,
all attempts to forgive and to understand
probably, to anything.

We apparently did something not said
forgotten the circumstances, details.
Yes, actually - about what? Yes, actually - when?
Yes, You eh, finally... I don't remember, here's the problem.

I have read like remembered.
Slowly, as if thoughtfully engage
perhaps irrelevantly, perhaps, and clever,
in some conversation, interrupted for a long time.

All the differences and the madness of November
all leaves are black, all windy nights
when the water in the Neva boil, and for good reason
bronze ruler on the area rumbles.
And Wake up in a bed not their own,
protection looking at someone else's house.
The thoughtless sensuality of the branches,
the naked wind - so familiar.