I’m the kind of woman who doesn't need to speak to be heard. My presence lingers — like a drop of snow melting slowly on warm skin. I don’t chase attention; it finds me, quietly craving what I never promise. I am elegance wrapped in silence, a cold breath down your neck, the pause before surrender. Behind this glass wall, I watch — and sometimes, I allow myself to be seen.

 Carita Berrier 18 y.o. Vékony forró flört