She lies down on the couch waiting and trembling, her face starts to blush, her nudity to herself seems nothing but broken. He tries to warm her, to calm her down, he tries to gently kiss her soft skin under the invisible blankets, beneath the bath of foam, but she struggles; she struggles with her own image.
The night is late, the morning is about to give birth, but the spirits are young. Their souls were built of free will, their hearts were born to be bound to each other, but she does not want to. She refuses to give herself to the beloved one, to the confident of her dreams, of her fears, of her painful and dark diseases.
Have you found someone who comforts you, the same sweet and unique way, that I comfort you? You will not, my dear, you will not. And so, I sincerely tell you; I love you from the bottom of my dripping cold heart. I love you more than anything in this foolish and soulless, filthy world. I love you, my fucking perfect and beloved girl.