It is better to be alone than in bad company.

or so she thought.

Even when her mind strayed, and she stiffened against the thought of love, she still desired it. In all its forms. Her dreams could be held there, within the mindless sense of intoxication. There was not a reaction, not a shrug, or wave or nod, not a shiver, not a stitch of her clothes, not a ripple of her hair. not a bead of sweat which did not scream for love. But her lips… her lips fell silent, and her feet stood still. The aspiration of love was eternal, but the admission of love was fragile. And the practice of it… dangerous. To love was to suffer, and to cause suffering… but to only hope of love was to thrive. Riskless and one-sided, she could both crave the possibility, and hide from the reality. Forever.

 Or so she thought.