Women actually angels but when them deprive with wings, it is necessary to fly on a broom.
I usual, but not such as all. I love that others like..., but it is a little differently. I live as the others, but I try to do it on another...I like to go on night street having overturned a head and to observe as from dark emptiness the big flakes of a snow fall. They appear from there is no place and adjoining to your cheeks thaw. They remind me feeling named love... First you pulled by all below and below, all is deeper and deeper. You fall in love, to be scattered on one thousand slices. You picked up with a wind and turns in a fast waltz, carries away you behind itself. You feel his touch, his warm breath, his fire... And you relax... You overlook who and whence. You are not present for world around more, and this world is not present for you. There is only you and it. A snow and a wind...
The fine person in a life and dialogue. Probably the love.