Irina Govorukha's Stories: "Flower Letters"
Irina Govorukha's Stories: "Flower Letters"
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Marina was an incorrigible romantic. She scoured the fields and collected thistles, tricolor violets, a shepherd's bag and adonis. I used to dry them in my father's thick encyclopedias and pasted them into letters.

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Irina Govorukha is a writer, journalist, blogger. The author of the novels "Addicted to Life", "Almost the Last Love", "Gynecologist" and many emotional stories and essays, which Ira will share with our readers in her own column on the site The only one.

Many years ago Irina Govorukha's first story was published in the print magazine The only… And now, after a while, we want to continue this wonderful tradition.

Marina was an incorrigible romantic. She scoured the fields and collected thistles, tricolor violets, a shepherd's bag and adonis. I used to dry them in my father's thick encyclopedias and pasted them into letters.

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Igor lived next door and was indecently grown up. He worked as a surgeon at a local hospital and constantly frowned, as if he did not stop operating for a minute. He came back late and the girl, as always, was waiting for him on the bench with a sandwich in her hand. I watched him open the mailbox, pull out a stack of newspapers, and walk home. He did not even read her letters. Crumpled and burned. The dried flowers burned well. Over time, she began to make fairy houses and flower fairies for him. I knitted socks and sent them by parcel post, and then grew up and left for another city. There, where tall factory chimneys, high-speed trams, student picnics and the first, burning lips, kisses.

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Forty years later, they met in Chicago at the Zhivago restaurant. Igor celebrated his 70th birthday and sang karaoke. Marina and her friend were returning from the theater and went in for a glass of wine. In retro dresses, cloche hats and long strands of pearls.

Look. Do you recognize? You were head over heels in love with him.

The woman looked at the thin elderly man with slicked hair and immediately smelled dry chamomile. She stood up resolutely and walked towards him:

And once you removed appendicitis, read "Soviet Sport" and flaunted in bell-bottomed trousers, and did not sing tavern songs.

Igor brightened his face and smiled embarrassedly. He remembered nothing. Neither her, nor thyme bookmarks, nor knitted hares. Only since the jubilee did they leave together and have been together to this day …

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