A girlfriend in love writes:
Fuck, this is a fucking thing!
I dreamed today - only I and he, he stands in the door and calls me to himself. I go in, and there is half-dark, the whole floor is filled with burning candles, everywhere are hanging shift colored canvases, like curtains, which slightly roll from the barely captured wind, playing quiet classical music...
I’m dying on the threshold in a light air...He’s quietly coming to me with two glasses of champagne...and I can’t even move, I’m standing with this kind of O_O eyes and I look fascinated at him, he’s looking at me, smiling.
I am ready to start dressing right on the threshold, I take a step towards him...
And here the BAC, suddenly I realize that I’m not me at all, but, fucking, the tractorist PETR Ivanovich!!!! to
Then I jump out of the tractor in a wild cry (!!!) And continuing to mourn and waving over my head with my hands, I flee to the distance in the red sunset on the fresh-blown field.

Tell me, that’s okay at all, right?