Cinderella

My head is spinning like I'm on the curves of a highway, where instead of turns, there are only glances. Everything is sparkling, glittering, flashing - as if the world decided to throw a private party just for those who can't stop. She's like she stepped out of a magazine cover, just the right amount of predatory, just the right amount of mysterious, she knows the value of heels and pauses between words. He's the one who comes uninvited, but with the confident stride of a hero from a late-night comic book. The air smells of the tropics, a hot engine, and perfume with a hint of risk. Everything is too perfect to be just a meeting. More like a short circuit on the dance floor, where the current hits your eyes instead of the wires.