Не буду просить прощения4+
I'm not from you, Mom, I'm leaving, I'm leaving the mess.
Snow flakes fall softly and unhurriedly from the sky. White fluffs sweep before my eyes, remain on eyelashes and cool streams flow down the cheeks. And let your life seem unbearable to you, your hands fall down powerlessly. But you promised your mother that you will be strong.
Sometimes it is worth forgetting all the blatant ideas of our civilization and paying attention to what was known to the wildest savages - respect for the mother. Maternal love is a black hole. It absorbs even the most vile and vile things. Lies, betrayal, uneaten breakfast.
When there is no reason for resentment, anything can serve as an excuse. Even semolina porridge. And how else should you behave when you are already pounding your nasty lumps against your throat? Turn around and leave. And it does not matter that it's winter outside, dark and minus thirty. Resentment and anger warm better than sheepskin coats. Sometimes I want it so cold. To the heart - ice, soul - concrete, stone. To look - snow, frost. And sometimes almost it turns out. You already feel this cold in your soul, you wait for it, you are ready for it ... but for some reason your mother looks into your eyes and starts to smile.
Wars are cursed by mothers. Manka is cursed by children.
“ The plot with the horse is slightly tightened. The children were bored.
“ Went to the play with his grandson, he is 4 years old. I liked it very much. Good theater, helpful staff. We definitely go to this theater more than once. Thank you!
“ Everything is great
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