Aware of the power of beauty but also with the fascination given by man, I feel, in fact, I know that I have become more beautiful with every love. I become more responsible for the wisdom but also the turmoil in me, for the madness but also for the recklessness of believing that I am pleasant anyway. Pleasant maybe, but not loved. I offered love in a way and it was received in his way of understanding it. My love didn't suit everyone. It would be absurd, we would be the same and we would lose what we value most. And then I was abandoned or I left waiting for you