Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Yes, she was beautiful. Very beautiful. As beautiful as a rose, a star, or a leaf that blooms at spring.
Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also proud. She’d pretend to love me, only so that she’d hear me tell her that she was beautiful, very beautiful.
True, she was beautiful. Unbearably beautiful. As beautiful as nobody else could have been. But she lacked a soul. She was so cold. When I’d hold her, I’d feel as if I were holding a rock.
Yes, she was beautiful. Beautiful enough to be watched, adored, and taken care of as one would take care of the most fragile object — maybe even kept away from the sight of others
But she was proud and cold, lacked a soul, and pretended to love me only so that she’d get to hear from me how beautiful I found her to be.
She was beautiful… unbearably so.
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