He noticed her at once—huge chocolate-brown eyes, heavy dark curls over rounded shoulders. And the stranger, as a joke, decided: let him fall in love—just for a week, even for a day. Until he loses consciousness, until he forgets everything, until it drives him crazy. A chance meeting. Everyone has their own life and their own home. And a ringing, soul-deep closeness, as if the Lord Himself once created this woman from the rib of that man. The poetry of Elena Minkina-Taycher is expertly disguised as prose—but as you read, you want to cry. Such poetry it is.