You are a loner, soaked in the rain of memories. A sad experience made solitude your credo. Surrogate love is the only way to feel alive when you have a black hole called your heart. You find one that fits a whole list of criteria and fall on her. You pour a bottomless barrel of canned love onto an unloved person. The intertwining of bodies, passion, hugs, a night of fiery sex and the morning aroma of her body on the pillow... All this is a breath of air for a drowning man. And again life plays with colors, and you hastily leave one, then another, a third... You run out of bed before it cools down. … You were a romantic who picked wildflowers and wrote poems full of virginal love and kindness. But the place of romantics is in books, and in life you are a weed, an indifferent narcissist who became this way not of his own free will... When love is no more than six letters, you are safe.