Love stories. Short stories for the soul - small emotional stories with meaning Short stories about late love

What could be more beautiful than love in our practical world? In all centuries, poems have been written about her, books and paintings have been written, music and songs have been dedicated, lives have been thrown at her feet. There is no other more valuable, but also dangerous, gift of human nature. Love is both holy and dissolute, it is the muse for exploits and the reason for recklessness, the reason for war and for peace. It is impossible to list the areas where love rules the roost; most likely, such areas do not even exist. Once it is removed from the foreground, it is difficult to imagine what value will remain in human life.

But today we will talk a little about love in the genre of literary prose, about short stories about love or not so short ones. The author of these lines and books also turned out to be no exception; in the literary craft, and for him, love is the key moment.

Short stories about love are an amazing thing, both for the reader and for the author. Novels, as a rule, are large books, which take a lot of time to read, or even more so to write, which is in greatest short supply in our age. But in short stories about love, especially those that can be read online and for free, the main advantage is that they are short. The author can quickly try to make himself known, and the reader can even more quickly assess the degree of interest in a particular author. Of course, this applies not only to short stories about love, but also to short prose of any other genre, but it is no secret that the most intriguing stories, short stories, novellas, and novels are always about love.

After a short lyrical introduction or digression, the author will allow himself to move on to a brief announcement of some short stories, of course, about love.

Now the author would like to dwell on the announcement of several more works that cannot be called short stories, but suddenly they will become interesting to the respected reader. Everything is serious here, but, again, it couldn’t have happened without love and its intricacies.

So:

GANGSTER AND BANDIT. This time a humorous story about love, which also cannot be called short. The action takes place again in the USA, only about a century ago. The love of a young guy from the slums for his beautiful wife, who longed to become successful and rich, was so great that at one moment it forced him to dramatically change first his life, then the life of his hometown, make significant adjustments to the criminal world, and only then the opportunity arose to subjugate the irrepressible other half.

Love stories, if it is true love, are not so easy to find. Just as it is difficult to find a person without weaknesses, it is also difficult to find love, without the vices of passion and selfishness. But there is love in this world! We will try to fill this section with love stories - from our time, and from more distant times.
All these short stories about love, except for the story by Yulia Voznesenskaya, are documentary, true evidence of how beautiful love can be. Love stories you've been looking for.

Love Story: Love is stronger than death

"Love story"

Love of a Russian soldier

Love Story: Man is like a blooming garden

"Isaiah, rejoice!"

Love Story: A Boring Marriage

Love Story: Abdullah's Beloved Wife

Moments of love

Margarita and Alexander Tuchkov: fidelity to love

“The Tale of Peter and Fevronia”: a test of love

Together on an Ice Floe (Little Summer Tale)

My story of love began when I came to a dance class. The first time I saw him, I immediately realized that communication would not be easy. Something valuable, besides his talent, was hidden behind his inaccessibility, and this was very attractive and haunted me. As it turned out, he is looking for a performer to perform, he is a ballroom dancing professional, and he is also a producer. From the first meeting, he made it clear that he highly values ​​art and avoids female attention. Warm-ups, stretching, aerobics for two hours did not give any chance of flirting with him. Those who were truly interested in dancing stayed here. The activity was easy for me, perhaps due to my state of love. Training with him, hand in hand, face to face, was pure agony for me. And I wasn’t the only one who expected more from his delicacy.

He leveled the wrist of my wet hand, I felt through the whiteness of the shoes the burning touch of his fingers as he “set” my position. Retreat was so possible! Any playful touch from him was so welcome for me! More and more of his virtues prompted us to think of him as a man. The thought that someday he could become Oleg for me, and I would no longer call him by his patronymic, overtook me by surprise with irrepressible fantasies right here in the studio. Occasionally our glances met in the mirrors. Then a sweet shock euphoria penetrated my body, and then I was very afraid of making a mistake. Something else besides the sounds of music was felt in the space of the hall. It was the rhythm of perfect movements, and also the playful play of fluids that came to life here, in this hall. It was possible to remain silent about this. And I wanted more and more to discover that he was not indifferent to me, to find a miniature confirmation of this, but there was none...

After a successful performance, Oleg Yuryevich congratulated the girls and kissed everyone on the cheek. No one seemed to notice that he didn't kiss me. But not me! For me this was too obvious a manifestation of... what? There are no flaws in my dance! This means that he singled me out from the crowd of others. But why is that? He knew! My wet palm? My timid look?

When everyone was leaving the locker room, Oleg Yuryevich called out to me with a request to stay for thirty seconds. No one doubted that I would stay for half a minute. Oleg Yuryevich was sitting at the table and writing something down. My heart was breaking out from within. I was afraid to believe that he would hint to me about his feelings. I could no longer tell him about it myself. The chairs were very close, and he asked me to sit down. The beating of the heart was louder than silence. He touched my shoulder. He asked me to dance with him in this huge gym. The dancing and hugging were indistinguishable. But my story about love did not end with a verbal confession...

Dear friend! On this page you will find a selection of small or rather even very small stories with deep spiritual meaning. Some stories are only 4-5 lines, some a little more. Every story, no matter how short, reveals a larger story. Some stories are light and humorous, others are instructive and suggest deep philosophical thoughts, but all of them are very, very sincere.

The short story genre is notable for the fact that in a few words a big story is created, which invites you to stretch your brains and smile, or pushes the imagination into a flight of thoughts and understandings. After reading just this one page, you may get the impression that you have mastered several books.

This collection contains many stories about love and the theme of death, so close to it, the meaning of life and the spiritual experience of every moment. People often try to avoid the topic of death, but in several short stories on this page it is shown from such an original side that it makes it possible to understand it in a completely new way, and therefore begin to live differently.

Happy reading and interesting emotional experiences!

“Recipe for female happiness” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

Masha Skvortsova dressed up, put on makeup, sighed, made up her mind - and came to visit Petya Siluyanov. And he treated her to tea and amazing cakes. But Vika Telepenina didn’t dress up, didn’t put on makeup, didn’t sigh - and simply came to Dima Seleznev. And he treated her to vodka with amazing sausage. So there are countless recipes for women’s happiness.

"In Search of Truth" - Robert Tompkins

Finally, in this remote, secluded village, his search ended. Truth sat in a dilapidated hut by the fire.
He had never seen an older, uglier woman.
- Are you - Really?
The old, wizened hag nodded solemnly.
- Tell me, what should I tell the world? What message to convey?
The old woman spat into the fire and answered:
- Tell them that I am young and beautiful!

"Silver Bullet" - Brad D. Hopkins

Sales have fallen for six straight quarters. The ammunition factory suffered catastrophic losses and was on the verge of bankruptcy.
Chief Executive Scott Phillips had no idea what was going on, but shareholders were sure to blame him.
He opened the desk drawer, took out a revolver, put the muzzle to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Misfire.
“Okay, let’s take care of the product quality control department.”

"Once Upon a Time There Was Love"

And one day the Great Flood came. And Noah said:
“Only every creature - in pairs! And for singles - ficus!!!"
Love began to look for a mate - Pride, Wealth,
Glory, Joy, but they already had companions.
And then Separation came to her and said:
"I love you".
Love quickly jumped into the Ark with her.
But Separation actually fell in love with Love and did not
I wanted to part with her even on earth.
And now Separation always follows Love...

“Sublime Sadness” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

Love sometimes brings sublime sadness. At dusk, when the thirst for love was completely unbearable, student Krylov came to the house of his beloved, student Katya Moshkina from a parallel group, and climbed up the drainpipe to her balcony to make a confession. On the way, he diligently repeated the words that he would say to her, and got so carried away that he forgot to stop in time. So I stood sad all night on the roof of the nine-story building until the firefighters removed it.

“Mother” – Vladislav Panfilov

The mother was unhappy. She buried her husband and son, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She remembered them small and thick-cheeked, and gray-haired, and hunched over. The mother felt like a lonely birch tree among a forest scorched by time. The mother begged to grant her death: any, the most painful one. Because she is tired of living! But I had to live on... And the only joy for the mother were the grandchildren of her grandchildren, just as big-eyed and chubby-cheeked. And she nursed them and told them all her life, and the lives of her children and her grandchildren... But one day giant blinding pillars grew around her mother, and she saw how her great-great-grandchildren were burned alive, and she herself screamed from the pain of melting skin and pulled to the sky withered yellow hands and cursed him for her fate. But the sky responded with a new whistle of cutting air and new flashes of fiery death. And in convulsions, the Earth began to stir, and millions of souls fluttered into space. And the planet tensed up in nuclear apoplexy and exploded into pieces...

The little pink fairy, swinging on an amber branch, chirped for the umpteenth time to her friends about how many years ago, flying to the other end of the universe, she noticed a bluish-green small planet sparkling in the rays of space. “Oh, she’s so wonderful! Oh! She is so beautiful! - the fairy cooed. “I've been flying over the emerald fields all day! Azure lakes! Silvery rivers! I felt so good that I decided to do some good deed!” And I saw a boy sitting alone on the shore of a tired pond, and I flew up to him and whispered: “I want to fulfill your deepest wish! Tell me it!” And the boy looked up at me with beautiful dark eyes: “It’s my mother’s birthday today. I want her, no matter what, to live forever!” “Oh, what a noble desire! Oh, how sincere it is! Oh, how sublime it is!” - the little fairies sang. “Oh, how happy is this woman who has such a noble son!”

“Lucky” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

He looked at her, admired her, trembled when he met: she sparkled against the background of his mundane everyday life, was sublimely beautiful, cold and inaccessible. Suddenly, having given her plenty of his attention, he felt that she, as if melting under his scorching gaze, began to reach out to him. And so, without expecting it, he came into contact with her... He came to his senses when the nurse was changing the bandage on his head.
“You are lucky,” she said affectionately, “rarely anyone survives from such icicles.”

"Wings"

“I don’t love you,” these words pierced the heart, turning out the insides with sharp edges, turning them into minced meat.

“I don’t love you,” simple six syllables, only twelve letters that kill us, shooting merciless sounds from our lips.

“I don’t love you,” there is nothing worse when a loved one says them. The one for whom you live, for whom you do everything, for whom you can even die.

“I don’t love you,” my eyes darken. First, peripheral vision turns off: a dark veil envelops everything around, leaving a small space. Then flickering, iridescent gray dots cover the remaining area. It's completely dark. You only feel your tears, a terrible pain in your chest, squeezing your lungs like a press. You feel squeezed and try to take up as little space as possible in this world, to hide from these hurtful words.

“I don’t love you,” your wings, which covered you and your loved one in difficult times, begin to crumble with already yellowed feathers, like November trees under a gust of autumn wind. A piercing cold passes through the body, freezing the soul. Only two processes, covered with light fluff, already stick out from the back, but even this withers away from the words, crumbling into silver dust.

“I don’t love you,” the letters dig into the remains of the wings like a screeching saw, tearing them out of the back, tearing the flesh to the shoulder blades. Blood flows down the back, washing away the feathers. Small fountains gush out from the arteries and it seems that new wings have grown - bloody wings, light, airy and spraying.

“I don’t love you,” there are no more wings. The blood stopped flowing, drying into a black crust on the back. What used to be called wings are now only barely noticeable tubercles, somewhere at the level of the shoulder blades. There is no more pain and the words remain just words. A set of sounds that no longer cause suffering, that don’t even leave traces.

The wounds have healed. Time cures…
Time heals even the worst wounds. Everything passes, even the long winter. Spring will come anyway, melting the ice in the soul. You hug your loved one, the dearest person, and clasp him with snow-white wings. Wings always grow back.

- I love you…

“Ordinary scrambled eggs” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

“Go, leave everyone. It’s better to be alone: ​​I’ll freeze, I’ll be unsociable, like a bump in a swamp, like a snowdrift. And when I lie down in the coffin, don’t you dare come to me to sob to your heart’s content for your own good, bending over the fallen body left by the muse, and the pen, and the shabby, oil-stained paper...” Having written this, the sentimentalist writer Sherstobitov re-read what he had written thirty times, he added “cramped” in front of the coffin and was so imbued with the resulting tragedy that he could not stand it and shed a tear for himself. And then his wife Varenka called him to dinner, and he was pleasantly satisfied with vinaigrette and scrambled eggs with sausage. Meanwhile, his tears had dried up, and he, returning to the text, first crossed out “cramped”, and then instead of “laying down in a coffin” he wrote “laying down on Parnassus”, because of which all subsequent harmony went to waste. “Well, to hell with harmony, I’d better go and stroke Varenka’s knee...” Thus, an ordinary scrambled egg was preserved for the grateful descendants of the sentimentalist writer Sherstobitov.

"Destiny" - Jay Rip

There was only one way out, for our lives were intertwined in too tangled a knot of anger and bliss to solve everything any other way. Let's trust the lot: heads - and we will get married, tails - and we will part forever.
The coin was tossed. She tinkled, spun and stopped. Eagle.
We stared at her in bewilderment.
Then, with one voice, we said, “Maybe one more time?”

“Chest” – Daniil Kharms

A man with a thin neck climbed into the chest, closed the lid behind him and began to choke.

“Here,” the man with a thin neck said, gasping, “I’m suffocating in the chest, because I have a thin neck.” The lid of the chest is closed and does not allow air to reach me. I will be suffocating, but I still won’t open the lid of the chest. Little by little I will die. I will see the struggle of life and death. The fight will take place unnaturally, with equal chances, because death naturally wins, and life, doomed to death, only fights in vain with the enemy, until the last minute, without losing vain hope. In this same struggle that will happen now, life will know the way to win: for this, life must force my hands to open the lid of the chest. Let's see: who wins? Only it smells awfully like mothballs. If life wins, I’ll cover the things in the chest with shag... Here it begins: I can’t breathe anymore. I'm dead, that's clear! There is no salvation for me anymore! And there is nothing sublime in my head. I'm suffocating!...

Oh! What is it? Now something has happened, but I can't figure out what it is. I saw something or heard something...
Oh! Did something happen again? My God! I can't breathe. I think I'm dying...

What else is this? Why am I singing? I think my neck hurts... But where is the chest? Why do I see everything that is in my room? There's no way I'm lying on the floor! Where's the chest?

The thin-necked man rose from the floor and looked around. The chest was nowhere to be found. On the chairs and bed were things taken from the chest, but the chest was nowhere to be found.

The man with the thin neck said:
“This means that life has defeated death in a way unknown to me.”

"Wretched" - Dan Andrews

They say evil has no face. Indeed, no feelings were reflected on his face. There was not a glimmer of sympathy on him, but the pain was simply unbearable. Can't he see the horror in my eyes and the panic on my face? He calmly, one might say, carried out his dirty work professionally, and at the end he politely said: “Rinse your mouth, please.”

"Dirty laundry"

One married couple moved to live in a new apartment. In the morning, as soon as she woke up, the wife looked out the window and saw a neighbor who was hanging out washed clothes to dry.
“Look at her dirty laundry,” she told her husband. But he was reading the newspaper and did not pay any attention to it.

“She probably has bad soap, or she doesn’t know how to do laundry at all. We should teach her."
And so, every time the neighbor hung out the laundry, the wife was surprised at how dirty it was.
One fine morning, looking out the window, she cried out: “Oh! Today the laundry is clean! She must have learned how to do laundry!”
“No,” said the husband, “I just got up early today and washed the window.”

“I couldn’t wait” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

It was an unprecedented wonderful moment. Disdaining unearthly forces and his own path, he froze to look at her for the future. At first she took a very long time to take off her dress and fiddle with the zipper; then she let her hair down and combed it, filling it with air and silky color; then she pulled at the stockings, trying not to get them caught with her nails; then she hesitated with the pink lingerie, so ethereal that even her delicate fingers seemed rough. Finally she undressed all - but the month was already looking out the other window.

"Wealth"

One day a rich man gave a poor man a basket full of trash. The poor man smiled at him and left with the basket. I emptied it, cleaned it, and then filled it with beautiful flowers. He returned to the rich man and returned the basket to him.

The rich man was surprised and asked: “Why are you giving me this basket filled with beautiful flowers if I gave you garbage?”
And the poor man replied: “Everyone gives to the other what he has in his heart.”

“Don’t let good things go to waste” – Stanislav Sevastyanov

“How much do you charge?” - “Six hundred rubles per hour.” - “And in two hours?” - “A thousand.” He came to her, she smelled sweetly of perfume and skill, he was worried, she touched his fingers, his fingers were disobedient, crooked and absurd, but he clenched his will into a fist. Returning home, he immediately sat down at the piano and began to consolidate the scale he had just learned. The instrument, an old Becker, was given to him by his previous tenants. My fingers ached, my ears felt stuffy, my willpower grew stronger. The neighbors were banging on the wall.

“Postcards from the Other World” – Franco Arminio

Here the end of winter and the end of spring are approximately the same. The first roses serve as a signal. I saw one rose when they were taking me in an ambulance. I closed my eyes, thinking about this rose. In front, the driver and nurse were talking about a new restaurant. There you can eat your fill, and the prices are meager.

At some point I decided that I could become an important person. I felt that death was giving me a reprieve. Then I plunged headlong into life, like a child with his hand in a stocking with baptismal gifts. Then my day came. Wake up, my wife told me. Wake up, she kept repeating.

It was a fine sunny day. I didn't want to die on a day like this. I always thought that I would die at night, with dogs barking. But I died at noon when a cooking show started on TV.

They say people most often die at dawn. For years I woke up at four in the morning, stood up and waited for the fateful hour to pass. I opened a book or turned on the TV. Sometimes he went outside. I died at seven in the evening. Nothing special happened. The world has always caused me vague anxiety. And then this anxiety suddenly passed.

I was ninety-nine. My children came to the nursing home just to talk to me about my centenary celebrations. None of this bothered me at all. I didn't hear them, I only felt my fatigue. And he wanted to die so as not to feel her either. This happened in front of my eldest daughter. She gave me a piece of apple and talked about a cake with the number one hundred on it. The one should be as long as a stick, and the zeros should be like bicycle wheels, she said.

My wife is still complaining about the doctors who didn’t treat me. Although I always considered myself incurable. Even when Italy won the World Cup, even when I got married.

By the age of fifty, I had the face of a man who could die any minute. I died at ninety-six, after a long agony.

What I always enjoyed was the nativity scene. Every year he turned out more and more elegant. I displayed it in front of the door of our house. The door was constantly open. I divided the only room with red and white tape, like when repairing roads. I treated those who stopped to admire the nativity scene with beer. I talked in detail about papier-mâché, musk, sheep, wise men, rivers, castles, shepherds and shepherdesses, caves, the Baby, the guiding star, electrical wiring. Electrical wiring was my pride. I died alone on Christmas night, looking at the nativity scene sparkling with all the lights.

Guys, we put our soul into the site. Thank you for that
that you are discovering this beauty. Thanks for the inspiration and goosebumps.
Join us on Facebook And In contact with

It is easy to love each other when adversity and difficulties pass you by. However, in real life, every couple’s relationship is tested for strength at least once.

website collected 10 stories about people whose love is not afraid of trials.

One evening I realized how much you need to love women. In the underground passage, I helped my grandmother with her bags to go upstairs. She thanked him, then, after hesitating a little, asked to be escorted to the courtyard of the house. It turned out that my help was needed to get there quickly, since her husband meets her every time she leaves the house. A practically blind old man with a cane could barely move around the yard. He was going to meet his beloved and pick up packages from her from the store. I immediately remembered how often I refused to pick up my girlfriend from the store or from the train because I was too lazy.

At the age of 19 I lost my leg. Then I was dating a girl, we had love. She unexpectedly went abroad, she said, to earn money for us. I wanted to believe it, but I knew she was lying. At one point I told her that I wanted to leave her (she was better off). About a month later I’m sitting at home, the doorbell rings. I took the crutches, opened the door, and there she was! Before he could say anything, he received a slap in the face, could not resist and fell. She sat down next to me, hugged me and said: “Idiot, I didn’t run away from you. Tomorrow we are going to the clinic to try on a prosthesis for you. I went to earn money for you. You’ll be able to walk normally again, understand?” In this moment I had a lump in my throat, I couldn’t say a word... I pressed her tighter and just cried.

My older sister got married. Very often her husband is capricious and makes a dissatisfied face, saying, “I won’t eat this: she didn’t cut the meat the way he likes it.” At these moments I remember my sister’s ex-boyfriend: she cooked chicken liver, and he always ate it, saying that he had never tasted anything tastier. And then it turned out that he had an allergy to the liver. He loved his sister madly.

After giving birth, my wife’s vision began to deteriorate greatly. She had been wearing glasses before, but then it got really bad. I didn’t have the strength to watch her suffer, so I took on extra work and found income on the Internet. I worked like an immortal pony and didn’t get enough sleep for almost a year. And here it is - it’s done! I saved up for my wife to get laser vision correction. She recently returned from the hospital and was surprised by everything around her. And I don’t care about this year, about the energy expended and sleepless nights! I have a healthy son and a happy wife, and that's the main thing.

At the age of 18, I was diagnosed with a small brain tumor. I thought I had cancer and would die soon, so I told my boyfriend that I would understand if he left me. To which he turned everything into a joke and replied that he could only throw me through his hip (he is a wrestler) if I started such a conversation again. As a result, the tumor turned out to be benign. Now I am 21 years old, we have been married for 2 years, we are raising a daughter. I will never forget his support in such a difficult moment for me.

Lately Mom has heart problems, I’ve been living with her for a week, my father has been on a business trip for a month. He was supposed to return yesterday. In the evening we sit in the kitchen, I look at her: thin, pale, beautiful. There is an icy calm on his face, and his hands are trembling. The keys are in the lock, dad is back. Mom runs to the door, clutches him, cries and says something unintelligible. He holds her close to him, and I stand to the side and smile. His love is her most important medicine.

I met a guy on the Internet. Cheerful, educated, good-natured. Plus, he has a very nice appearance. We talked on Skype for several years. After I realized that I love him. He reciprocated, but was afraid to meet. She insisted on her opinion and came to him a thousand kilometers away. It turned out that the young man was disabled. Can't walk. We spent three months together. We will submit an application to the registry office soon. For me he is the best, my Professor X!

• I'm infertile. The first girl I was in a serious relationship with, I didn’t talk about it for a long time, I was afraid, and when the truth was revealed, she just left. I went through a year of depression, then there was another relationship, but it ended in nothing. About six months ago I met a girl, fell deeply in love, kept silent about my problem, yesterday I told everything. I was ready for anything, and she looked at me and said that in the future it would be possible to take a child from the orphanage. I burst into tears, I want to marry her.
• We recently moved to an apartment in St. Petersburg and started renovating it. When they dismantled the floor, they found a niche with letters: a woman, Anna, wrote to her husband Eugene, how they live with three children, how they survive, or rather, about how the city does not give up, about how they are all waiting to meet. The last letter struck a chord with me: “We are really waiting for you, Zhenechka. I can’t write anymore, I’m out of pencil, but I’ll think about you. Feel us, look at the sky and feel."
• I met with the most ordinary beautiful girl, spoiled by a good life. It was easy and fun to be with her, and the means allowed her to satisfy her whims. He proposed to her, she agreed. But just a couple of weeks later I had an accident and was partially paralyzed. The pampered girl was my nurse, a loving woman and a reliable friend for several months., despite how helpless and pathetic I was. She sold a lot of things that I thought she couldn't live without. I learned to cook because I needed special nutrition. She forbade me to apologize. Not a shadow of doubt, disgust or fear flashed on her face during all this time.