On a cloudy day, the mood is not the same, and there is no desire. Let's talk about something good. Do you like cartoons? Sweets? Maybe he walks barefoot on the spring grass, tickling his innocent feet, or touches a lightly cold tile, after which a herd of pleasant ants runs on his body.
And if it's winter, then lie in the snowdrifts and call with the words love. And the sky covered with clouds? The stars coming out now. A rainbow that flutters so much brighter than any star. And a cat that sleeps soundly, curled up somewhere in the barn. Everything is so native and as if its own, but also distant at once. Let's talk about the good about the good, about the native, about our best years, which have passed so carelessly. So I want to talk until the morning. You love? Oh, me too, but not that and not passionately. And in general, what am I. Depression is eternal and autumn melancholy will take away the last words and leave our house until the next day, the eternally troubled day ...
Therefore, talk about the good with me until the very far day.