And then I kiss him, putting everything I feel for him into the kiss. I kiss you as if this is the last day on earth and there will be no other. I kiss him so that he gets through. Maybe he will still hear, understand, guess? ..

“Taya, Taechka,” he whispers without opening his eyes. He touches my face with his palms. Kisses himself. In the lips, in the eyes. Covers every inch of my skin with feverish kisses, then back to my lips again.

We never touched the food. We were not up to it. We treated each other with kisses and consoled ourselves. Self-deceived and calmed down....