Life is the Book of Beatitudes. Some read it deeply and thoughtfully, others quickly and greedily, others diagonally, and some do not know how to read and write at all. We do not know who writes it for us, who intends it for us, faceless, sleeping in the cocoon of nothingness, who is preparing for us a magical, incomprehensible gift. In the margins of the Book of Beatitudes, the heroes of Anna Rivelote write their stories - for each other, and each one is about love. Love stories, life stories are fragmented, fused and stratified into thousands of mirrors - destinies, faces, the Cuban sun, and Venetian canals are reflected in them. Stories flow in several directions at once in time and space, branch out with blood vessels, nerve endings, and multiply: one love - one life. They sound rumba, and Novosibirsk rock, and songs that will never be sung. They dream of rum and moon sugar mysteriously shines... And in this radiance it is so easy to make a mistake, mixing the pages of your own and someone else's life...