Alessio had retreated, departing from a beauty made for wandering eyes, and he is now questioning the moment. Beauty left a trail for him to follow, and he followed blindly. He followed, with eyes upon the back-end of her form, because he was unable to see anything for recognition’s sake.
He dreamed of her that night, after the day ended when the sun melted into the horizon’s edge. Each tear ever swiped away for a new morn when he can dream during the day when to have a new moment to gaze. To gaze upon that woman with the pink band, for she is encompassing his mind. For in that night, when his mind is a horoscope for the future, he sees the band, wrapped around the waist, tightly and elegantly. Lovely was her gait, that he noticed to be firm in its pace. Yet, the strokes of the footsteps showed the sort of grace that can be imagined by any typical Parisian woman. Grace in every step, like the mountain, whenever it chooses to walk. Would he move her to turn glaciers to tears?