« Every day she was a different woman.
Sometimes enterprising, sometimes clumsy.
Sometimes exuberant, sometimes shy.
Unsure of herself and determined.
Sweet and arrogant.
She was a thousand women,
but her scent was always the same.
Undoubtedly.
That was my only certainty.
She smiled at me
she knew she could fool me
with that smile.
When she smiled,
I didn’t understand anything anymore,
I couldn’t speak or think.
Nothing, nothing at all.
There was only her all of a sudden.
She was crazy, really crazy.
Sometimes she cried.
They say that in these cases,
women just want a hug,
She, no.
She was getting nervous.
I don’t know where she is right now,
but,
I bet she’s still looking
for dreams.
She was crazy, really crazy.
But I loved her so much. » (Charles Bukowski)