She is not married, and I have never seen her in a white dress. In white gloves... Fingers I've never touched. I never found her chestnut hair on my shirt, and in the dark night, she never left her mark on my back. A man? No, far from it and absurdly different.
If I could speak with her lips, it would sound like this: "They don't fit me like slippers with my evening dress. I want it so that once I look, I can't look away. This suits me. I want these shoes; they are special."
