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I write about love so often that love, stuttering, will write a story about me, and we made a bet. I got your name on my left hand. And in fact, the weeks flew by, everyone kept telling you: “He has no money.” “What the hell is love?” - your dad’s opinion is stronger. You lie thousands of times, throw out thousands of phrases, then thousands of tears, but somewhere now, you are strong in words, but collapse in actions. You were the most faithful, now you are my fear. Your truth really makes me laugh. After all, you have so much confidence in her. Only because she lied so often that she believed it all herself.