Some strands of Giselle's hair dances with the peaceful and gentle gush of wind. It constantly busses our skin with the clammy dew of the night that comes from the raw seawater. She was sitting in the front of the boat and unusually wearing a long white robe despite the rough breeze. Her feet were touching the icy water and overlooking the profound, distant, and almost asleep vast ocean. The calm and quiet night was ravaged by the pretentious noise and loud volume of the boat that we rented, along with the unstable spirals of a small surge of waves.
Ulysses was the one who's driving the boat; he was sitting in the backside. And I was standing in the middle of the ship, as I've watched and scanned my woman in a not invisible distance. A delighted smile crept on my lips when she looked up a
