Price

Morning dawn, he's not with you. A sad moment and no cigarettes, a letter in his pocket where he wrote that he's never met anyone better than you. So romantic, yes, it's true, and everything even trembled, you won't lie. But what's the point when he's not around? What's the point of crying over this? You remember his gaze, his gentle hands and his uniform at the front, on that damned day. He was so beautiful, and you knew it. That very same day, he's a walking dead man. "Please remember me sometimes..." he whispered before leaving for the truck to meet his death. "After all, once upon a time, on that very bench... we sat and smoked, looking at the sunset, there I will be alone, I am not happy with anyone." And now you're home, alone without him. It's hard for you and not easy for him. He fought for you, for his homeland, but returning alive is not destined for everyone. At work, you tried to distract yourself, at least for a moment, not to think about him. What kind of work is there when nothing lasts forever? And your thoughts are always about him. And someone will say: "Calm down, accept it," but they won't understand the pain that's inside you, it's stuck like a knife, and your heart is bleeding, now you're on edge and waiting for a call. And then, after two long years, he called you. He said, "I'm back, look out the window." You immediately jumped up and quickly went to the window, and there it was dark and he was covered in snow. After getting dressed, you ran to him and fell into his arms, his dear ones. He hugged you and whispered to you, "I love you..."