leaned back a moment, contemplative, almost absent, almost autistic.
he was surrounded by life, static life, disguised as a cheap ornament.
she was, curled up and asleep, unprotected ... Eternally it in a language that ethereal and incomprehensible to most (except for them) had been proclaimed with pride, reason of the existence of all beings.
could not be other than she turned into an absolute demon and essential. As ubiquitous as
death, as scary as the loss, as puzzling as conflicting. So unique and yes, why not? So beautifully detestable. A pale flesh oxymoron.
was it, a bunch of anger, passion, hatred and sin more, but was hers, had been his almost 20 minutes, was only yours ...
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