She draws on the one thing that cares for her the most, her poetics. The only part of the world to adore is its ignored. Really?
She thinks of her own ideas, comparing in rationalisms intertwined with the footage of counting it out, forgetting it all, saying it was a joke on the screen--relying on one final chat on a beautiful terrace outside a ballroom as the last remedy.
Her words are, truthfully, among her most trusted companions--forever seeing with their own eyes, they know deep. No amount of time together warrants a killing.
With her deepest of thoughts, the view seems situational, sooner or later cutting a deep edge for her to someday have a lively, bright future.
“You shouldn't feel you have to wait if you don't want to, right?" she says.