I imagine myself in a quiet place, where the air feels thick and warm, and every touch, every brush, has a deep meaning. I imagine glances that don’t need to be spoken, that convey a complicity that is only understood in silence. There’s something about d
I am small, with a delicate figure that sometimes seems like a secret to be discovered. My skin is soft, as if every corner of it had been designed to be caressed. My curves are not pronounced, but in their subtlety they hide a promise that only those who know how to really look can understand.
My hands, small and thin, run along my narrow waist, stopping for a moment on the slight contour of my hips. My hair falls in soft waves around my face, like a frame that accentuates my full lips, slightly parted, waiting... for something. The light that enters through the window caresses my body, drawing soft shadows on my neck and collarbone.