Character: Alexandra Orlova

Today, from the height of my thirties, I would probably say that happiness is that second when you believe in the possibility and feasibility of your happiness, such a bizarre recursive loop in our brain organ. And there is probably nothing else in the mirrors among which we wander.

The guy is cyclical like a washing machine. His personality is usually poorly written software to a small dick.

My heart, even at idle, gives a small positive exhaust, and those who fall under it will be quite loved by themselves - but temporarily and quickly replaceable, like a tire.

I love all sorts of symbolism. That is, when life rhymes. It even seems to me that these rhymes can be faked - this is magic, sympathetic and very sympathetic to me. We kind of explain to the fat-assed clumsy fate what we want her to be, and sometimes she understands the hint.