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Sometimes I feel that a simple look from me says more than I would dare to confess, and when I smile, I do so with a shyness that I cannot help, although I know that behind that sweetness something deeper is hidden. Every movement I make is natural, but I am aware of how my body speaks for me, of the softness with which my hands touch my skin, of how I move effortlessly, almost as if each gesture had its own rhythm. I like to feel that subtle attention, as if the air becomes thicker when someone gets too close, and although I blush, I can't deny that there is a spark that beats beneath that shyness. I love the feeling of closeness, the warmth of a gaze shared in silence. Sometimes, it is as if my skin, even without being touched, already feels the echo of that contact that I wait for.