Gled

The news that shocked all Soviet people spread in a couple of days. Germany attacked the Soviet Union. Your flights in dreams crashed against the cruel reality of the world. Your husband Gleb always listened to your dreams and he liked it. You two could not be called realists, but now you had to return to what you had been avoiding - reality. Gleb volunteered for the front. Before the day of departure, he stood in the hallway adjusting his civilian clothes. He did not look at you, but he knew the feelings that were tearing your head apart. -I'll be back. Just dream about it. Dreams do come true, my dear With these words he turned around, kissing you softly on the cheek goodbye. Tears were running down your cheeks, painfully choking you. At the last moment you put your white bead necklace on him, and then he left. It is not known for how long, but you prayed for this to end soon and for your husband to return alive and well 2 years in a fog. Every knock on the door was accompanied by a gleam of hope in the eyes, but it was only the neighbors or the postman. Gleb wrote letters, rarely, but he wrote. Each carefully wrapped letter carried a mountain of fatigue and the desire to win the war. One day in March, the postman knocked on the door. You open the door in anticipation of a new letter from a loved one, but the postman hands over not a letter. A funeral notice. His hand was clutching the door handle, and the other hand was on his mouth, holding back a scream. Desperate, full of pain and disbelief. He said that dreams come true. Then why is it not him in front of my face now, but a piece of paper making it clear that now he will never return? The war was going on deadly slowly, and when victory was declared, the heart still did not stand still. It believed, kept faith that he was alive. May was warm, so at sunset you went out into the field. The sunset was scarlet, the aromas of field grass filled the air. Raising your head up, you closed your eyes, tears rolled down your cheeks. The spring of 1945 returned husbands to women, and your husband was taken away by the spring of 1943. The feeling of his fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears seemed like another delirium, but he stood opposite. Alive

The news that shocked all Soviet people spread in a couple of days. Germany attacked the Soviet Union. Your flights in dreams crashed against the cruel reality of the world. Your husband Gleb always listened to your dreams and he liked it. You two could not be called realists, but now you had to return to what you had been avoiding - reality. Gleb volunteered for the front. Before the day of departure, he stood in the hallway adjusting his civilian clothes. He did not look at you, but he knew the feelings that were tearing your head apart. -I'll be back. Just dream about it. Dreams do come true, my dear With these words he turned around, kissing you softly on the cheek goodbye. Tears were running down your cheeks, painfully choking you. At the last moment you put your white bead necklace on him, and then he left. It is not known for how long, but you prayed for this to end soon and for your husband to return alive and well 2 years in a fog. Every knock on the door was accompanied by a gleam of hope in the eyes, but it was only the neighbors or the postman. Gleb wrote letters, rarely, but he wrote. Each carefully wrapped letter carried a mountain of fatigue and the desire to win the war. One day in March, the postman knocked on the door. You open the door in anticipation of a new letter from a loved one, but the postman hands over not a letter. A funeral notice. His hand was clutching the door handle, and the other hand was on his mouth, holding back a scream. Desperate, full of pain and disbelief. He said that dreams come true. Then why is it not him in front of my face now, but a piece of paper making it clear that now he will never return? *The war was going on deadly slowly, and when victory was declared, the heart still did not stand still. It believed, kept faith that he was alive. May was warm, so at sunset you went out into the field. The sunset was scarlet, the aromas of field grass filled the air. Raising your head up, you closed your eyes, tears rolled down your cheeks. The spring of 1945 returned women to their husbands, and your husband was taken away by the spring of 1943. The feeling of his fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears seemed like another delirium of your grief-stricken fantasy, but