Rina Sikorskih (Avdeeva)

Rina Sikorskih проживает в городе Киев, Украина. Девичья фамилия (фамилия до вступления в брак) - Avdeeva. Из открытых источников получены следующие сведения: информация о высшем и среднем образовании, родственниках.

She has beautiful smile and beautiful sandals. She always smells of spring even if it’s winter outside. And also. She can also always find a piece of blue sky even if there’s no aperture in the ceiling. She has the bottomless-ocean colored eyes and the South-sun colored hair. She can fly. In the evenings, putting off her dress of tiredness and wrapping herself with the blanket of drowsiness she flies. She has a ripe-strawberry colored enamel on her nails and the drunk cherry taste syrup on her lips. She knows the strict time of appearance of the first star in the sky and she knows what the taste of the West wind is. She has short hair and long eyelashes. She counts the smashes of the light with her eyelashes. She doesn’t know the Italian but she brightly speaks the sign language. She knows his thoughts but she doesn’t read any new. She likes the riddles. And the surprises. She loves her friends. But now for some reason she’s sitting alone on the green bench. And from his flight altitude she seems to him so small on that huge bench. She has been already living for several centuries and she appreciates each second of the year. She never has been leaving her planet. But she flies high up in her sleep. She sleeps across the bed, her head on the North. Every evening she goes mad and in the morning she drinks coffee and runs to save the world with her loneliness. She makes the acquaintances in the subway and walks under the rain. She lives on the loft and spends the nights on the roof. She is obscure for him. She is unknown for him. She winds the alarm clock up to seven. Then she sleeps for two more minutes and gets off the bed from the right foot at seven o three. She wears her watch on the right hand and she eats the East cuisine meals with the hands. She dislikes the ice-cream but he orders a full-cream ice under the berry syrup for her. She doesn’t wear any footwear and she walks along the clouds barefooted. She never answers if somebody calls. She receives the letters without a return address and sends the letters in response. She dislikes the rock’n’roll and she never brings down the temperature of 40. She counts the doves having flied over her head. She dislikes the cartoons. And it’s been so many years that she is in a state of war. The war with herself. She has been falling in the pursuit of happiness not once. And not once he has been putting the ice to the sore points of her soul. She likes the books. And she likes to wake up under the white sky. She loves to fall down in the grass. She likes the bird-cherries. And she buys it for herself. The sweetest. She likes to count the stones under her feet. She likes being waiting for him. And being waiting for his permission for the war. She has beautiful smile and beautiful sandals. She always smells of spring even if it’s winter outside. And also. She can also always find a piece of blue sky even if there’s no aperture in the ceiling. She has the bottomless-ocean colored eyes and the South-sun colored hair. She can fly. In the evenings, putting off her dress of tiredness and wrapping herself with the blanket of drowsiness she flies. She has a ripe-strawberry colored enamel on her nails and the drunk cherry taste syrup on her lips. She knows the strict time of appearance of the first star in the sky and she knows what the taste of the West wind is. She has short hair and long eyelashes. She counts the smashes of the light with her eyelashes. She doesn’t know the Italian but she brightly speaks the sign language. She knows his thoughts but she doesn’t read any new. She likes the riddles. And the surprises. She loves her friends. But now for some reason she’s sitting alone on the green bench. And from his flight altitude she seems to him so small on that huge bench. She has been already living for several centuries and she appreciates each second of the year. She never has been leaving her planet. But she flies high up in her sleep. She sleeps across the bed, her head on the Nor

Лето, сто пропущенных и сироп от кашля, Килобайт печали с самого утра, Тебе нравятся мои коленки, Free Association, Let Her Love You