romance [Theme] Page 3

Here, you see, not romance, but farce. However, in politics it is the same thing.

- Why do you live on the left bank? For romantic reasons?
- Randomly. That's the best motivation I know.

There was something special, mysterious about this girl. She was like a magnet attracted to her, I wanted to read and re-read it again, like an interesting book.

- I'm afraid of her, very much...
- Not worth it, friend. Fear is designed to warn you of something you have never done or seen. But he shouldn't forbid you anything. So just silently walk up to her, hug her, and put yours in her mouth... Well, for starters, the language, the only way she will consider you a man.

This is German romanticism - a circle enclosed in a kvdrat, a symbol of the fact that any differences can be perfectly combined with each other.

How is it possible that a person first met by chance, overnight became a family?!

- A hopeless romantic. Today I saw her making eyes at the corpse.

But I have always dreamed of such a room. Where I could sit in front of a blazing fire and do something romantic. For example, making a shopping list.

Kingdom - where I am alone ... In my kingdom of sorrow. Everything is falling apart. The cobwebs in the corners scattered in the wind. In the end, my kingdom dissolved, and there was no one left in it. My kingdom was washed away by the current, and you were water. And I'm sure flowers will grow there now. And when the flowers grow, I will call them by your name.

Romance, diluted with Mat
in which I write a novel
about the city with acid rain.

And in the eyes of splashing joy, and the wind from the Neva.
And umbrellas are not necessary, under drops of blue
We grow faster and reach toward the sky, skyward,
Where dreams are ignited...

Do not pick the flowers, tear,
Let it be more colorful Land
And instead of bouquets give
Cornflower,
Nezabudkovy
And camomile field!

I feel that I learn to dream again. That life suddenly became important. Trust me, you just make... heart beat. And I... I'm lost.

I believe desperately in the most warm countries,
Where the wind from soft whispers declarations of love.
Soft grass overgrown lacerations,
And smoldering fire, and chadit nicotine in the breast.