The most beautiful woman in the world has hair that reaches halfway down her back, although she often wears it up.
At home, she walks barefoot and sometimes longs to go out without makeup. She smiles before looking in the mirror, avoiding focusing on her imperfections.
She always goes to bed after midnight, reviewing conversations that will never be repeated.
She doesn't know that spring gets jealous as she passes by, that the sun sometimes feels it doesn't shine as brightly as she does, and that the shooting stars wish they had a bit of the magic her flirtations emanate.
The most beautiful woman ignores that the ground trembles when she appears, even if she is the one who feels fear. She has bristled more fur than she has touched and sometimes the rain longs to be moisture between her legs.
She has not realized that any man would give anything to be by her side, to kiss her and remind her of her virtues. She is tenderness, innocence, perversion and passion in one being.
She has made mistakes and her tears do not compare to the battles she still has to face.
Surely, the most beautiful woman in the world does not know that right now she is the one reading this.