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Please stop looking at me, she thought, afraid of his eyes and terrified of her own heart.

Paullina Simons

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Paullina Simons
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: January 1
Translator
Writer
St. Petersburg
Thought
Heart
Terrified
Afraid
Please
Stop
Eyes
Looking
Eye

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We thought the hard part was over—but we were wrong. Living is the hardest part. Figuring out how to live your life when you’re all busted up inside and out—there is nothing harder.
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Awash in a flood of hostility and despair, they battled and railed and shattered their bodies on one another, unable to find one strand, one sobering swallow of solace.
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Tatiana, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you like I’ve never loved anyone in my whole life. Now, get up. For me, Tatia. For me, please get up and go take care of your sister. Go on. And I’ll take care of you.” His lips kissed her cheek.
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Thank you, she whispered, for keeping yourself alive, soldier. You're welcome, he whispered back.
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I don't want this life to end, said Alexander. The good, the bad, the everything, the very old, to ever end.
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He stared at her fists and at her face and said with upset incredulity, You promised me you would forgive me- Forgive you,Tatiana hissed through her teeth, tears streaming down her face, for your brave and indifferent face, Alexander! She groaned in pain. Not for your brave and indifferent heart.
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In Alexander's life there was one thread that could not be broken by death, by distance, by time, by war. Could not be broken. As long as I am in the world, she said with her breath and her body, as long as I am, you are permanent, soldier.
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Ask yourself these three questions, Tatiana Metanova, and you will know who you are. Ask: what do you believe in? What do you hope for? But most important - ask: what do you love? ... I know who I am, she thought, taking his hand and turning to the altar. I am Tatiana. And I believe in, and hope for, and love Alexander for life.
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There is a very definite Russian heart in me that never dies. I think you're born and you live your life with it and you die with it. I'm very much an American - my books tend to be about American things, but inside there's that sort of tortured, long-suffering, aching, constantly analysing Russian soul underneath the happy American exterior.
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Courage, Alexan­der,” she whis­pered. “Courage, Ta­tiana.
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Daughters are supposed to be friends to their mothers in their old age.
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Courage, Alexander..... Courage, Tatiana
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They had no past. They had no future. They just were.
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I tend to be a great optimist when it comes to the United States and the American way of life, I think precisely because I wasn't born into it.
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Not bombs nor my broken heart can take away from me walking barefoot with you in jasmine June through the Field of Mars.
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But on that sunlit Sunday, Alexander knew nothing, thought nothing, imagined nothing. He forgot Dimitri and war and the Soviet Union and escape plans, and even America, and crossed the street for Tatiana Metanova.
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Dear God, Tatiana prayed in bed that night, turning to the wall and pulling the white sheet and the thin brown blanket over herself. If You are there somewhere, please teach me how to hide what I never knew how to show.
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Tatiana: Why did we spend two days fighting when we could have been doing this? Alexander: That wasn't fighting, Tatiana. That was foreplay.
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This is days and days and months and years and all the minutes in between, just you me.
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You have amazing gifts. Don't squander them. Don't give them out meaninglessly, don't abuse them, don't take them for granted. You are the weapon you carry with you till the day you die. -Tatiana and Alexander
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