White rabbit in the snow

he is watching the wall, a plain white wall, he seems concentrated… he seems somewhere else. he is standing there contemplating this plain white wall. it reminds him of her, she was beautiful, gorgeous, stunning in her red dress, not the vulgar type, it was sexy and elegant. he remembers her naked back, he remembers her lips, he remembers… he isn’t the average guy, he is impressive, he’s a giant, physically a beast, he is not used to hear ‘no’, he is used to be feared… he, the beast, was nervous, he hesitated a long time before approaching her. he, the beast, walked towards her, in a clumsy way. he was staring, staring, looking at nothing else than her, despite all the paintings. she was the manager of the art gallery, and he, the beast, was only interested in her, piece of art. she asked: ‘are you looking for something in particular?’ she showed him around and stopped in front of one painting. he was struck by its evidence. ‘white rabbit in the snow’ she said, ‘what do you see?’ ‘WHAT do i see… i feel sadness, so much sadness, so much loneliness.’ He remembered how sad and lonely he was, he remembered his anger, his trauma, his childhood, this childhood that made him the man he is. ‘i’ll take it’. he came back several times, she liked him while he was madly in love. she smiled. for the first time, he felt lively, living again. one day, he asked, HIM shy and such a big man, such a successful business man, so tough, so brutal with others, he was scared, afraid: ‘would you like to have dinner with me?’ ‘with pleasure’, she responded. he, the beast, encountered the beauty. he, for the first time of his life, cared about someone, he cared for the only one who mattered, he cared for her…

White rabbit in the snow
White rabbit in the snow
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