Lizzie and Louis I

    A thought walking in my head. That's all it takes for me to make my mind. First I have to see the context where it was said. Later on, it visits different places until one particular building catches its attention. Clinging to that structure. Pending on the idea of visiting it and remembering its presence or disregarding it and continuing to another topic, another place. This is how I met Louis. 

    That day, the wind felt colder. My eyes surveyed the garden full of red roses, the greenless leaves and the leafless trees. A perfect scene for a perfect death, I wrote on my "Lizzie's thoughts" diary; my eyes, like a child's, seemed to be impatient to drown inside Louis' soul. He was standing against a tree, half-smiling at the grass, a hand behind his back.