Воспоминания

I still remember with a smile, those old days when I was happy, when life seemed to me, is meaningless without it. I had the summer, the summer of love and I am grateful to him for that, then it was autumn, the golden autumn of love and then came the winter, the cold hard winter of tears and frustration.
Summer
He was 26, I'm 16 and about any relationship and speech could not go.
But one, just one hot summer day, or rather night, a warm July night changed my life. It was July 15, and now it is my lucky number, we walked all night, and then at 6 am I called my mother and I drove home. In parting, he gave me a hot kiss, which I almost buckled legs. Thus began my love with him ...
I secretly ran out of the house, we were hiding from my parents, we were kissing on the tarmac, while listening to the sound of rustling leaves and the brook, I forgot all the world, and lived with him only by our nightly meetings. I guess I'll never forget, he invited me to her, then it was cool on the street - he lit a fire, the bed to the floor a warm blanket, took the bottle of red wine and poured by the glass, we were, staring at the fire, listening to the crackling logs, drinking wine and talked about everything. He confessed to me in love, telling absurd stories happened to him, as well as moments of frustration in his life. That evening I saw love in his eyes, in his smile, so sweet and dear, I saw concern, his voice reminded me of the noise of a restless sea.
He was then with me, loved me more than anyone else in the world, was so gentle that his touch I felt dizzy. Over the summer, my favorite time of the day became night. Night - a world of sweet dreams, World without sorrow and without tears, a world where it is not necessary further ado ...
Autumn
And the beginning of September, I went to school. But in his mind it was not a study, but it is my favorite and the only one. We with my girlfriend Masha every night chatting on the phone about their favorite boys gave each other advice, we suspect them, sometimes for the eyes scolded, but loved them madly. I often think, as we checked their accounts on mobile, kept records of their embezzlement and wondering where they could spend even 6 cents. Our love does not know barriers, probably have never in my life so I do not go crazy. All our notebooks were in correspondence, I have until now remained a notebook, where there were plans for meetings, stupid jealousy and secret sex life. Each time, talking on the phone, we had said out of habit - But Vova thinks so! - Sasha said so! We were obsessed with them, subscribed love poems, love songs, but what else could we then be interested in?
Every weekend, I went to his beloved cottage on the night and we took champagne and grapes, walked up to me on the second floor and all night indulged in passion and love. I'm just waiting for the weekend to see him, but at the end of October, he went to Ukraine ...
Love - it is an opportunity to look at two in the right direction, so their paths become one, not separated under the blows of fate.
Perhaps even then fate separated us, but then none of us are not aware ...
Winter
And then came December, every evening I looked out the window, and then snow fell in large white flakes. I was lonely and cold.
We have agreed with them to celebrate together the New Year, he had come to the end of December for me, but one day everything was broken ... I lost hope and a sense of something lost, I wrote him a sms, and in response to the silence, I called him, but no one picked up the receiver. I tortured myself with guesses and suspicions, so far I can not figure out where he could go, because he could not get away from me, because I never gave him a reason, I never disappointed him, but simply loved dearly loved, giving herself to him without reserve and without taking anything in return ... "he never comes, will not write sms gentle, not embrace strong warm hand before going to sleep, he will not say how much he loves you and you for him alone in the world ..."
And every time I ask myself, "Why? Why me ?! "
P.S.
Every night, the thought of it like Shooting Stars, clusters fall and burn up in the darkness, leaving only a burning trail of sadness and grief. I do not drive away the melancholy. It is a small moth flies, as soon as dusk descends and not noticeable sits on my shoulder, gradually turning into a large bird sad, enveloping me with his wings