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The rain leaves a bit on the ledge,
Trickling down - caressing the rowan.
I hate the gray color of offenses.
The soul - like a petal, it is fragile.
I love you. And you know this.
Believe me, no one else is needed but you.
Here comes the rain. It dances on the bushes.
The voice is bewildered and slightly hoarse.
- "Why are you frowning? Come on, kiss!
Come to me, I’ll at least hug you.
And jealousy, you know, suits you well."
He lowered his tone, smiled. Quietly: "I know."
Psychology of relationships
