Blank pink shirt

This is a text that its owner reads and absorbs her days. He borrows her obsessions, distractions, and refractions to turn them all into fragments of a crystalline entity that reflects light away from the core of the heart.
The text achieves its completeness and is satisfied with its closure on its hidden secret, and it always destroys your subdued expectations into daily, repeated observations about the meaning of love and the nature of desire. A text that creates the identity of its writer and reflects some of her shadows on the waiting screens. Waiting for the "lover" who doesn't come. And waiting to be liberated from the captivity of the novel. Giant question marks - that will not leave your eagerness to read - remain hanging in the gap between the novel of the expected and the dream of being realized through the novel. But you soon realize that life here is not a dream, but life is written facts. Like sequences of cinematic shots that force all the characters to perfectly embody their pink fantasies. When the blurry white color prevails and the word "The End" appears, you wonder who was fighting for survival: life or the promise of verification through writing?