Her answer.

"I don't want just your false smile or your theatrical moans.

I want the pain, the tears and blood. Not only the doll, give me the soul too.

I want everything you unchain when you hide in your panic room.

I want the one your are when you take for a mother another prostitute.

Call me whatever you want; libertine or impure. I prefer to keep living this way rather than die pretending to be "good".

I love and adore everything about you"

That was what I said.
So, why did you leave again?

I went out to search for you, seeing if I could find your moans, sweat and love in others mouths, skins and beds.

But I couldn't. I knew from the beginning; you were dead.

And so, I kept walking through the alleys after midnight. A bottle of cheap wine on one hand and my ill heart on the other.

Forgetting names, faces and the warmth of those that made me company in the cold nights of winter in your absence.

All this long time of suffering, with a few moments of joy, to find you drugged and numb in the darkest of all the sad alleys I have walked through.

Looking into your eyes the same way I did on the night we met, Right here, right now I ask you one last time: Have you find it away from me? Have You found freedom?