How beautiful you are. I only feel good when I’m with you.
How I love to caress your neck, watch your eyes half close at the touch of my hand. I’d spend hours doing it.
She would have taken everything away from us. Little by little, her nature would have emerged. He was already her slave, and it would have just have gotten worse and worse.
Your warm breath, how wonderful it is to feel it on my face.
She knew how to make everything good disappear. Where she was, no one else existed, all that remained was her, with her desires, her moods.
He was no longer himself, you saw that. He no longer understood a thing. She had become the sole proprietor of his smile; the rest of the time he was distracted, confused, he didn’t care about anything anymore. His life was just time spent waiting between helpings of her, an ugly parenthesis to be shortened, something without purpose.
You feel it, my hand, don’t you? You feel its light touch upon you.
Because I love you, and I respect you. When a person loves, his touch is light.
You’re relaxed, with me. Untroubled. Untroubled.