hazel eyes, pale palms

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Версия на английском языке

And in my hazel eyes, one could read sincere, childish joy, which would later be replaced by no less sincere tears, and your hands, pale palms, almost completely stained with blood, knocked out from under my feet any hope of salvation, and the ax, in that the hour that ended up in my head, shimmering with fleeting pain, reminded me why I didn’t want to have anything to do with you. And you, like a suicide bomber, with a daisy in your hands, dissolve in my memories, leaving behind only the warmth from your hands on my cheeks...The truth will never be the same for everyone How could I believe that you really forgave me?