Не забывай меня

A minor evening rustles through the pages of a diary: a simple mantra about memory and love, repeating like a gentle hook. No paradise is needed - just closeness within four walls, where the moon plays the role of luck and admiration gushes like a fountain. Words flow in circles like the tide: eyes like the ocean, a figure like a fountain, and it seems that the whole world has agreed to be a simple witness to this endearing habit. In the breath - at once passion, habit, and a little comical drama: infatuation that declares itself loudly, but in a minor key. Warm and a little awkward, like an old photo in a book: you can forgive everything when you are close - and that is almost enough poetry.