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Silence is a woman who is never bored with. She runs with a trot, then slows down steps. It is a lot, but can understand and listen. Silently returns when he gets tired of being with another. She is sad when she wants to laugh, but an imaginary. When one, she flies to you to laugh. When you obediently forgive her any insult, she is burning in the beauty of the charming notes of love. What is silence? Some kind of fiction, maybe? Someone's dreams? Dreams? Empty words? What is silence and what does I owe to her if every day she comes to visit me? Behind the walls, the stars are shyly hiding in the sky for not a day when I would not be tired of waiting ... Only loneliness sometimes screams in a silent anger: the silence was not allowed to interrupt ... What is this all the same? Silence or scream? Old age or youth? A way out or a dead end? Silence ... What is it ..? Tomorrow or infinity? Pity, joy, passion, love or inhumanity? Silence. ... When it is close, but not with you, it may be necessary, it can be completely alien, it can be narrowed, maybe just a passerby, in each guise of different ones, but like 2 shores are similar. The sister of empty loneliness - and only ... their facial features can be recognized when your eyes look at her not at the bosom of cleanliness and duty, as a girl, whose pranks do not distort with tears. If a person is sure that he once woke an empty pity in himself, he was mistaken. Near loneliness and silence the split of the paintings, you wanted to return their prices back - it’s a pity that you did not dare. Silence is always a step ahead, always knows what you find out after the clock, or maybe days. Silence, where are you running away if I fall asleep if hundreds of faces around me and I am among me ..? Silence ... We often pronounce her name, without even thinking, call her to us. Silence ... And the charm of her, and the ardent whisper will not cool until she is with me while she is in me. Silence is a prisoner. We are to blame for everything: we need to be in her company saints. But why does she deprive us of reason, staying at least for a day near our dreams? Silence ... She is around: she is with another, she, with the other, she soars in a height, then wanders somewhere nearby, hides manuscript poems and notes sometimes blinds, as if in the snow of a rowan winter in a crimson. The silence on the ends of the eyelashes and in the palm of the palm of your hand, the features of the young body ... The dust holds my breath under the castle in the fire of agony, jealousy freezes if I let it in. I drink her tears to the last drop, I taste, because of which she pours them. I’ll go to everything, for the sake of her slightest request ... Silence ... She gives me everything and everything steals the lights of the night prospectuses flickered with a dull light, the wind spoke with me in the distance I heard the taste of silence ...