Her whole existence is a tremor, but she kisses all of yours away.

Eyes can say a thousand words, but her eye can say ten thousand. Blood shot and pink –she's damn near blind, but she'd never let on. It's only because you're so intent to study her that you see her squint, and trip, and bang into things in the night.

You might have heard her say ten words since you met, but with one glance she can leave you trembling.

As she lies on top of you, it's like you're polar opposites –her skin, whiter than light, against yours that's flushed and slick with sweat. She's a rough kisser, her lips chapped and cracked; she owns you as she does it, and you can't help but go willingly.

Her hands are calloused, and, petite as they are, you just feel sofull as she thrusts relentlessly into you. She barely weighs a hundred and twenty pounds, but she feels more substantial than any man you've ever had.

You scream, unable to help yourself, bucking your hips violently into her. She groans, her voice gravelly and harsh, forever trapped in her throat, as she comes with little more than a shiver. It's the loudest event all night, and afterwards, you lay tucked against her, feeling every bit as comfortable as you do awkward, being nearly twice her height.

You'd tell her you love her, but the words don't come.

Dreary light is creeping beneath the shade when she gets up to leave you. As she stands naked like a streak of silver in the dim illumination, you think she looks vaguely fairy like, and you'd tell her, but the words again escape you. She pulls on her dress pants, and pauses to gaze at you, her quaint breasts rising with each breath. She smirks because you're smirking, have just realized that her pale, rose-tinged nipples are the darkest part of her skin.

She pulls her jacket on, runs a hand through that colourless shag, and leaves you with only a quick kiss, a grunt, and a glance that only you could interpret as a thanks.

Alone, the emptiness overwhelms you.