She was there, among the sheets, white curves engulfing her fingers, dunes of nowhere. She was there, when her hair seemed to go from dark to white in  minutes. She was there while her soul traveled among the memories that aged her as if years had passed like agitated waves.

She was there, in the emptiness of her room, listening to the songs of the moths bathing in the summer.

She was there when he loved her and shared the bed with her. She was there when he left. She was there when nobody  came to rescue her.

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