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В колонках играет - The White Strips
Настроение сейчас - Джазовое

Last letter.

She walked somewhere with a treasured dagger in a hand. Behind her shoulders the case with such useless now a violin rocked in a step to steps. He only prevents to go, casts memoirs about fine, that earlier she skilfully to dream, earlier she was such, as all. And now her blue eyes which have forgot to laugh, examine the world from a roof of a high-altitude house, behind a back wings grow. She takes a violin and plays a farewell song. The melody was thought out specially for such case. She flew, flied on the city, picked up by a wind. Let everyone will hear shout of that little girl with a dagger, and the main thing, that never … he would know about it … has never overlooked about the little girl, the neigbour on a school desk. Has never overlooked about to what wrote those verses. The girl is sure, he remembers the « your Kiss in night has woken a phantom of a life in my soul … ». She wanted, that he would know about her love. She can never spoke about it, not enough tears can poured out on a pillow, but all her sights were not game. She liked. Hi answered her. Probably, their hearts will find each other somewhere there, in clouds. Probably, once he again will press her to heart. She did not know eternity, she did not love stories about angels, but at the same time her soul aspired to depart from this empty vanity. She played on a violin. He liked to look her in the face, liked to touch her hair. He drew her pictures on a canvas. He wrote to her verses. What happened that day when she has decided to take a dagger in hands? What has released her hands? Whether he is guilty, whether the aspiration to freedom has won? On it there are no answers even at her, but nevertheless she stands on sulfur from a dust to a roof and plays on a violin. To him.