Simply watching her moving, while resting carelessly on the couch, head on the side, her silhouette dressing up in front of the profuse square light out of that big window, gracefully putting on shirt and pants, timidly messing up her own hair, glowing like a stream touched by sun rays, admiring the sober and slow angles of her limbs, it is made to tease me, then stare at her frail ankles in the shed of light, the nails cut awkwardly neat, the little blue veins streaking the feet under the white skin, desiring to trace the outline, roam on every bump and crest with my hand, tasting evenly the soft and grainy parts, lying here, and only watching, thinking that only watching her moving is such a delightful sensation.