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And truly, one could only recognize the finesse of her lips not immediately, but by peering deeper, like a sailor desperately seeking desired land through the shuddering fog: in her delicate cheekbones, in the bright curve of her collarbones, in the shawl that slipped from her shoulder and hugged her waist with an intimate gesture—instead of which he would gladly levitate himself, settling on the thin line of soft skin; desperately gazing into the inexplicable traces of salty tears and insults torn out of context, quiet, almost pleading: either begging or renouncing his essence, shameful and impenetrable behind heavy, silent walls.
Oh, how he wanted her to be his.