nostalgia [Theme] Page 3

A bouquet from "Eilers!"... You hear the motive
These two words, alas, so soon tsvineva?..
A bouquet from "Eilers," - that contrary
The multi-columned Kazan Cathedral!..
And I remember that not so long ago -
Do you remember my flowers? as in the white-white room
On the bedside table carved from old panels
You stood in the crystal, on the Kryukov canal?
Glittered on the window patterns icy ligature,
Rang hum sledge sparkling run,
And fall fun December snow swirling!
A bouquet from "Eilers" after all, is not afraid of snow!..
But in three days over the Neva century swept!
Now not to color! And with all of the bouquet
As cut a strand from the expensive hair
There was only the flower is dried that's the one!..
A bouquet from "Ehlers" has long been dried up!..
For me now, weeping in exile
In the dried flower trembling last breath
St. Petersburg days that have melted in the fog!

In Constantinople a Turk
Lay, torn and filthy,
"Plan of the city of St. Petersburg"
("In a square inch - 300 yards...")
And shuddered at the memories,
And metering step, and my eyes wet...
In my anguish, as in the plan:
- "In a square inch - 300 yards!..

Dear city, you smell the coffee,
mignonette spicy and a little dream
slightly hops from philosophies,
and storm stand by the wall.
Your pride is difficult to temper
and willpower not to break,
love give you both sides,
memory passion weaving thread.
Approach life at times playfully,
but wisely brighten the fate,
you night mystery, and you wonder,
and I love you so much.

I led her to the bed, and barely touched the blanket, she fell backwards and immediately fell asleep. I stood and looked at her, and in my heart awoke longing for the University, according to our former life. Modern times was promised a lot of exciting, but they will never be as carefree. Never.

For all the years I have accumulated a lot of memories. So much that sometimes even confused whether it was all really or is it just a figment of my imagination.
After so many years, it's become like a pool of memories to me, never knowing if those memories are real, or if they're simply what I want to remember.

She said I want to sleep in the city
That never wakes up
And revel in nostalgia.
She said, "I want to sleep in the city
That never wakes up
And enjoy the nostalgia."

... And the book he wrote.
Many slipped from his hands.
He's in several countries was looking for.
And time broke it like bitches.

Cloud ridge
Formed among friends...
Bye
Migratory geese forever.

Maybe
too hard
I spent days running...
Old photos
why would I Bank?

In cold heaven
Cherry blossoms pretended
Fluttering snow,
And for one brief moment
A little breath of spring.

Raced years
Old age visited me,
But just look at it
This flower of spring,
Forget all sorrow.

I have something to say. I still remember our stars.
I have to tell you something. I still know which stars are ours.

To read the entire conversation with a dear person to die from an overdose of memories? Why Yes.

and weak heart
a lot will be sorry
and everyone will hide
your own memory