<< To Erato: A short description >>
2003-25-01, 1:19 p.m.

She always did what she wanted. She did it with confidence on her belt. Guilt would never tunnel through her mind. She was a fighter. She was... just there. She lived around, migrating from land to sea and sea to island. Her languages were perfect. She could seduce any man or woman. She always had what she wanted. Her confidence brought mystery. This mystery is why people fell in love with her. This mystery is why people loathed her. She would walk down a desolate street, people would then walk outside just to see her. She could write. Her words were more powerful than any weapon, her words were past nuclear. She knew the secret to everything. Her mind was the key to unlocking the world. She didn't know it. She was optimistic. You could see constant bliss reflected in her eyes. She was an artist. Her hands were the keyhole into seeing what was in those locked doors of the world. She painted the life of the sun and its brother, the night. She knew of love. But she doesn't know that she has it. She fears sharing herself with another. She doesn't know that this person would die for her.

Her hands are clean. But her heart is dirty.

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