Elena. Trojan Wars, elegant fonts. Everybody deserves an Elena. "For text that's meant to be read."

However, I don't think Elena wants to be read. She's quick, elusive, ahead of herself. Sand slipping through fingers, time accelerating and disappearing into loopholes of lust and love. Better keep up with this one. The kind of girl that shows you the stars and breaks your heart. An astonishing beauty, a nimble mind. A girl to die for.

Well, I wasn't going to die. And neither would she. Elena never dies. Elena is life – and life is what I wanted.

Elena wasn't on top of her game when I met her. As if the diaphragm of her camera was on hold too long, giving way to the uncertainties wandering through her beautiful head. She's a photographer, likes to catch the instant – sacrificing the moment, to have a clearer view afterwards. That's the paradox. But she's good with words too, likes to write. One should never delete words. The more you delete, the clearer they're engraved in your heart.

"You should move to the other side of the bar", I told her when we first met. She gave me a puzzled look, didn't know who I was. I took her in my arms and turned her around. Just as the fight kicked off. She understood now, walked along with me to the other end. Frightened but grateful, her brown eyes like a velvet veil, slightly touching the edges of my heart. "Thanks ..." she murmured. I looked into her eyes and smiled. Leaving her in the company of the well-dressed man she was with. Girls like Elena – they feel lonely, but they're never alone.

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