![](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmccEWQpTjwtsXh5hWfDqtwA4XATMDLqLExA63PaaXExPV/image.png)

it is a sip of old wine he always hears the ring of crystal ... loves the beetle of the rain - then lightning flashes in her eyes and ' woman - wandering rain jump over puddles looking bright sun with love to warm up in love to burn woman - silent madness bread for the body elixir for the soul. Smile touch Spring in Thoughts ?! * Wind - hell burning fireplace coffee for two ?! * Smiling warm tears is that you?! * Wind - a freak warming violin quiet ?! Sketch stroke colorful woman ?! . Your first beam flashed unexpectedly and stroked me. Warm and gentle on sunrise, passionately burning in apogee - you slowly and sadly pass by, you break into the sunset.
   One can not live without the sun. After sunset, there is a new sunrise.
   How many days in human life, measured not by the number of sunrise luminaries, but by the number of suns-people who have enlightened it?
   The sun does not dissolve in the sunset. It collapses, shrinks, concentrates the heat it was able to radiate, and rolls to your feet like a mosaic pebble.
   Bend and get it!
   Now you are pebbled in the variegated mosaic of my life. Together with the other pebbles, which were also suns. You stand silent, unobtrusive to others, and sometimes to myself. Not noticeable, but no less important than when you were a Sun. And if you decide to get rid of the jigsaw, the remaining gap will hurt and eventually remind you of yourself as a non-healing wound.
   DO NOT REDUCE!